


Of Rank and Ridicule

by xCake



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Multi, Treason, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: You had been given the great honour of becoming part of the Asgardian royal harem, along with a handful of other young women. Of these, a smaller few would be selected as concubines, to be cherished and shared between both of the royal princes. And out of those smaller few, only two - one for each prince - would go on to become imperial wives. Marrying into such a high rank and becoming a Princess, or perhaps even a Queen, was a massive benefit in and of itself, but to also be loved by two such powerful men… The very thought sent chills down your spine.You would have it all.[ Loki x Reader x Thor ]





	1. The Selection

As you were ushered into the palace ballroom with a handful of other young women, you felt a bit like livestock: like you were all sheep and the palace guards were the shepherds. However, you and the others were really anything but - you had been given the great honour of potentially becoming part of the Asgardian royal harem.

Out of this handful of women, a smaller few would be selected as concubines, to be cherished and shared between both of the royal princes. And out of those smaller few, only two - one for each prince - would go on to become imperial wives. Marrying into such a high rank and becoming a Princess, or perhaps even a Queen, was a massive benefit in and of itself, but to also be loved by two such powerful men… The very thought sent chills down your spine.

Of course, you were given free choice to partake in the screening process. If you'd said no, you would have had free reign to do whatever you so chose. But you had said yes, because you were unremarkable in most ways - a jack of all trades, as it were, but a master of none. You were well aware that once the decision was made, you could not take it back, and thus far you did not regret it even once. It was such an honour to partake, despite how brutal the screening process was. It was designed to not only test your patience but to also discover your flaws, of which you had many: you were ambitious, pushed boundaries, sated your curiosity without restraint, and worst of all, you failed horribly at holding your tongue.

The screening was also made to see how much stress you could handle. As you discovered, you could handle more than enough, but nothing was so nerve-wracking as standing here in this expansive room, feeling absolutely minuscule as you stood in the presence of your two potential lovers. Stealing quick glances at them, you couldn’t help but feel starstruck. You had never been so close, and you just couldn’t stop risking your gaze being caught by theirs despite it being a clear breach of palace etiquette.

Thor, of course, stole the stage as he typically did. He was brash and beautiful, his golden hair shining in the muted sunlight as it cascaded down his shoulders. And what wonderful shoulders those were, so muscular and masculine like the rest of his tanned body. You noticed that he stood with this arms crossed, refusing to sit in the chair he had been provided, while as a stark contrast his brother Loki seemed to drape himself upon his. It seemed that Thor was eager for this occasion, excitable and unable to sit for more than a brief pause. He reminded you of a sweet, loyal dog, with his emotions written all over his face.

Thor's gentle eyes swept across the group as you all lined up for the final selection, and they met yours for the briefest of moments - until you bashfully looked away, having been caught staring. After a few moments, however, you found that you just couldn’t resist sneaking another look.

What you learned when you looked back was that Loki had his own mysterious appeal. He did not seem so eager as Thor, but quiet, restrained, lovely - and dangerous. His dark hair suited him perfectly, framing his sharp cheekbones and emphasizing his pale skin, fair as freshly-fallen snow. He was quite the opposite of his brother, so lithe and slim and clad in leather rather than plate. He seemed so relaxed, his demeanour perfectly calculated, and you couldn't help but wonder where the facade ended and Loki's true nature began.

When you were caught staring again, this time by the God of Mischief, your breath hitched in your throat and you felt absolutely powerless under his scrutiny. You couldn’t look away.

Then a voice broke the spell and you gave it silent praises, instead turning your eyes to its owner, a higher-ranking guard. “Let us begin.”

In total, there were seven of you. You were the sixth, a number as unexceptional as you felt compared to these other beautiful, talented women. One by one, the lot of you were introduced, and all said a few choice words so as to curry favour. Not much was said by the princes, however; you supposed that they were waiting until all were presented to speak.

When it was your turn, you stepped forward and curtsied - not quite so gracefully as those before you - and said your name. Somehow, your voice did not waver but inside you were all nerves and anxiety.

Before you could continue, Thor smiled brightly. “You are the one whose eyes found mine.”

At the corner of your vision, you saw Loki’s eyebrows raise. He had also caught you staring, but instead of revealing this fact he said nothing.

Your cheeks flushed crimson. “Yes, my lord. I apologize if I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

Thor laughed and waved his hand dismissively, as if to instruct you not to worry about such trivial matters.

“Somehow,” Loki began, eyeing you up and down as if to admire your small form before his eyes met yours again, “I get the feeling that this is a common occurrence for you. Overstepping bounds.”

Having both of their attentions focused on you caused your heart to beat a frenzied tattoo upon your ribcage. Loki was no doubt making a jab at you for having been caught staring not once, but twice. As you responded, you tried to keep your tone as even as possible, but this time you heard it waver just slightly. “You are not wrong in your assumption, my lord.”

Loki made a soft hum of approval, and you could see the corners of his lips turning up in the faintest hint of a smile.

You were unable to continue with your introduction as the higher-ranking guard instructed you to step back. For this, you were grateful; out of all the things you had prepared to say, you could remember none of them.

The last girl’s introduction finished without incident, and then the selection began.

The first one's name was called and she stepped forward. Thor smiled at her in approval, but Loki shook his head. She was dismissed. It was all so matter of fact to them, to everyone, but you could only imagine how she felt. Her hopes must have shot up exponentially and then were suddenly dashed. Yes, it certainly was brutal. Not as brutal as a battlefield, but it gave its own distinct wounds.

The second girl gained neither approval and was also dismissed. The third followed suit.

As the fourth girl stepped up, you started to wonder if this process was going to be entirely unproductive. Thor offered his approval in the form of a few kind words. Loki merely nodded; he did not look entirely pleased, but he must have realized just as you did that a concession must be made. You hadn’t caught her name, but she seemed friendly, perhaps overly so as her words were honeyed during her introduction. Having received approval, she was escorted out by one of the palace maids. As she walked past, it was impossible for you to miss the smug look she shot at you. She was trouble.

The fifth was approved by neither and was dismissed. Then it was your turn. You were ready for this to be over, as your heart had not relented in its frenzied pace. When your name was called, you stepped forward, awaiting judgment.

“I _like_ you,” Loki said, speaking for the first time since the introductions had ended and the selections began. He leaned forward in his chair to get a better look at you, and the predatory look in his eyes made you feel like he was a cat and you were his toy, so defenseless and beneath him. “I enjoy how brazen you are.”

Again, you felt your face heat up. He was making another humiliating jab about your breach of etiquette.

Thankfully Thor was none the wiser, and instead he gave you a lovely smile, one where his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “I approve of you as well.”

Relief flooded your body upon hearing his words. You had been chosen. Curtsying again, albeit with more difficulty as your knees had gone weak from the relief, you said with sincerity, “Thank you very much for this great honour. I will do my best not to disappoint.”

When you looked up at them again, you found that while Thor’s smile was radiant and his eyes kind, Loki’s stare was intense, heated, and full of want. If that look was any indication, you considered that perhaps being chosen would be your undoing. Your heart raced as you turned away to leave the room with another one of the palace maids, and deep down you couldn't shake the feeling that you would rise to the top. You would have it all.


	2. The Garden

After you left the ballroom, you were escorted down one long corridor, and then another. Your heels clicked against the marble floor, and as you got lost in your thoughts your anxiety made a brief comeback. You had been chosen. Soon you would have the unique experience of bedding royalty. A cold sweat came over you at the thought, but it stemmed more from excitement than from nervousness - or perhpas a mixture of both.

Your travels, and your thoughts, came to a stop when you reached your new chambers. The room was excessively large, possibly larger than your entire home had been. It was immaculate and breathtaking, adorned with gilded tapestries, decorative vases, a lovely vanity with a large mirror and more cosmetics than you would ever need; and there, in the middle of the room, was the bed. It was just as impressive, albeit much too big for you, let alone for two. A sheer white canopy draped from the bedposts so as to give the illusion of privacy, but the large pillows and plush bedding were what drew your attention. Your fingers brushed against the silken threads in varying in hues of purple and gold, velvety soft to the touch and just as exquisite.

A gentle voice came from the doorway, drawing you away from your reverie. “Milady, is there anything you need?”

It was the maid who had escorted you here. You found it sweet of her to ask.

“No, I can’t imagine needing anything when all of this,” you gestured to the room, “has been provided to me.”

She nodded, and then curtsied gracefully. “From today I will be your lady-in-waiting. I'd be happy to fetch whatever you require.”

“What is your name?” you asked her.

“It’s Mara, milady.”

“Mara,” you said to yourself, before you smiled at her. “Thank you. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“It is an honour to serve you, milady,” she responded with great sincerity, before curtsying again so as to dismiss herself. “I’ll be just outside, so please call out to me should you require anything.”

With that, she stepped outside and closed the decorative set of double doors behind you, leaving you alone to further discover your new home. There were two further doors to open, both ornamental, one in the left corner and the other directly across from it, on the right-hand wall - likely a closet and a bathroom. You selected the former of the two and soon found that you were correct in your assumption, as the wardrobe was full of dresses made of the finest silk, in as many colours as the Bifrost.

Curiously, you pulled one out to try it on. It was delicately crafted, a rich, bright colour that suited you. Your own clothing had never been as fine as this. After you stripped down, you slid the dress on and relished in how amazing the material felt against your skin. Then you draped a white shawl around your shoulders, and when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror you barely recognized the woman looking back at you.

This beautiful clothing befit a queen.

 

 

A couple of hours passed, which you used to skim through a few of the books on the bookshelves in your room. There were books on etiquette and decorum, for which you were grateful as there were so many intricacies within the palace that you still needed to learn. There were also books on war, tales of great battles and warriors that had achieved impressive victories, as well as many other stories of which you had never read. You were surprised by these, as you had always believed that a concubine’s duty was to be just a pretty face and nothing more. Perhaps you were wrong. The books on decorum and royal history soon confirmed this fact; through them, you learned that an Asgardian regent should always consider his beloved's input before making a decision. While it was common knowledge that Frigga, Odin’s queen, was regarded highly, you had always thought that she was the exception, not the rule.

“Mara,” you called out. It felt strange to call on a servant.

“Yes, milady?” came her muffled voice from the other side of the doors.

You walked over and opened them, wanting to speak with her face-to-face. It felt rude to do otherwise. She immediately curtsied with a quiet apology, presumably because she did not open them for you.

“Please do not worry about these pleasantries,” you told her kindly, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder. “I can do some things for myself. Do not fret.”

Hesitantly, she nodded. “What can I do for you, milady?”

“I am not sure what I'm permitted to do here. May I explore the palace, or must I wait to be summoned?”

“No, you do not have to wait. Although there will be a banquet to be held tonight, for you and the other new ladies of the palace.” In that moment, Mara finally seemed to notice your change of clothing. “The gown suits you! Will you wear it to the celebration?”

Her question hit you like a splash of cold water. It was one thing to wear this in your room, where no one would see you, but in public with so many nobles in attendance? Surely you would look out of sorts.

The worry must have shown on your face for Mara gave you a reassuring smile. “You look wonderful, milady. Please do not worry. The princes will be most pleased.”

You liked her honesty - at least, you hoped she was being honest. “When is it, the banquet?”

“In about two hours' time.” Then she stepped to the side, so that you could go explore as you so desired. She already seemed to know you well enough, or maybe it was just obvious that that was exactly what you wanted to do. “Shall I come with you?”

You shook your head, bringing the shawl closer around yourself. “I will return soon. Please wait for me.”

She curtsied once again and then you left to explore the palace. It was just as exquisite as your room, so gilded and bright and rich in decoration. There were corridors upon corridors, and you knew not where they led.

 

 

After you had done a fair bit of walking, you realized that it was very likely you would get lost. Perhaps you should have brought Mara with you. And with that realization came with another - no, you were already lost. Many of these corridors looked the same. You had no idea how to get back.

Oh well. You knew that you’d eventually find your way, so you just kept walking.

Even while lost, your sense of direction did not fail you. It did not take long for you to find your way outside, to the palace's lush gardens. So many flowers, vibrant colours and sweet scents surrounded you, and you stopped to smell each beautiful variety as you passed by.

You were so absorbed in your immediate surroundings that you did not see the dark-haired prince standing up ahead, green eyes fixed upon you. Only when Loki’s smooth voice called out to you did you finally take notice. “Have you grown tired of your chambers, pet?”

You jumped and quickly turned toward the sound, having been caught off-guard.

“’Pet’?”

You were unsure if you were offended to be called such a demeaning thing or elated. Then, you saw him, so calm and collected and walking towards you. Immediately, you realized your breach of decorum, and you rushed to curtsy as you already should have. “Hello, my lord.”

Oh, he liked this. You. Most of the women he spoke to followed palace etiquette perfectly, too perfectly, so much that their faces had all begun to blend together. They were all the same, but not you. No, you had spirit, a fire within you that he would so love to unleash. While your etiquette could certainly use some improvement, it _was_ your first day after all and he was willing to make an exception to the punishment that would typically follow.

“Come now, darling,” he said, unable to conceal the amusement in his voice. “You are spectacularly bad at hiding your true feelings. They’re written all over your face.”

Were you really that obvious? You were embarrassed, though, and you stammered a quick, “I’m– I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“Hmm,” he mused, stepping closer to you. Never did he break eye contact as his hand came up to cup your cheek and his thumb gently traced your cheekbone. Your heart fiercely began to pound within the confines of your chest, even more so as Loki tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You felt yourself getting lost in his stunning green eyes when he spoke again, “I wonder. What about it don’t you like?”

You blinked, bringing yourself back to reality. “About what, my lord?”

“Being called my 'pet'.”

Your brows furrowed as you took a moment to consider it. It was a pet name, after all - pardon the pun - and if he was willing to call you such a thing then you supposed that was a good sign. Perhaps you took offense too quickly, but you felt that if you told him the truth then you may offend him, too. So you held your tongue and told him, “I don’t mind it.”

He studied your face as you responded, before he withdrew his hand. “I see honesty is not one of your strengths.”

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I– I did not wish to speak out of turn.”

“I wouldn’t have asked the question had I not been expecting such an answer,” he told you, his tone sharp.

Well, in that case, perhaps you would not hold your tongue so much around him. You were not very good at it to begin with, for you only seemed to do it when it was not warranted and, in turn, you spoke too openly when it was. So, you swallowed and said the truth as he had requested, “It is demeaning. I am not a toy.”

“Oh?” Loki had prodded you to reveal your honesty, but never had he seen someone object to something so trivial - at least, not to him directly. It had been all over your face, clear as day, the disdain at being called such a thing. It was refreshing. He leaned closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “But aren’t you _mine,_ now, pet? For me to do with as I please?”

Loki’s warm breath on your ear sent shivers down your spine, but you bristled at his challenge. You knew that he did it on purpose, that he intended to rile you up, and, well, it was working. You had been willing to let him call you whatever he liked - not that that was a bad thing, anyway - but then he had poked and prodded and made you speak out of turn. Before you could get a word in edgewise, however, he pulled away.

“My, you _are_ lovely when you’re angry.” He could see the intensity in your eyes, the fire, the irritation. He loved it. “Show me more.”

You, of course, did not want to disappoint - not that you could have watched your words any longer, anyway, when he was provoking you so well.

“I am a _woman,_ ” you bit out, “not a toy, as you will soon come to realise. This I promise you.”

Loki’s soft laugh was irresistible, you noted, but you were more focused on the hand that came to rest on your hip. Your skin tingled at the intimate contact through the thin silk of your dress. Then he slid his hand teasingly up your side, before snaking it around your waist, using the leverage to bring your body flush against his. A quiet gasp left your lips, music to his ears. His other hand came up and, hooking his thumb under your chin, he turned your head to the side so as to give him better access to your neck. There, he once again brought his lips just millimeters from your ear.

“Oh, but I already do,” Loki murmured, sending another shiver down your spine. His hand moved from your chin to your hair, and his fingers tangled within it just enough to show his dominance, to make you submit to him but not enough for it to hurt. “You look positively _ravishing_ in that gown. If only we weren’t on such open display…”

As his sentence trailed off suggestively, your knees went weak, causing you to fall against him. Loki caught you with ease, and you relished the feel of his deceptively muscular arms flexing against you through his leather armour. By this point your anger had given way to heated desire, and when his lips brushed against your pulse, you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that betrayed you.

“Mmm, pet,” he whispered against your neck, “So vocal and I’ve barely even touched you.”

You didn’t care about the pet name anymore. Actually, no, that wasn’t true. You loved how it sounded when he used it in such a sultry tone. You wanted to hear it more.

You were under his spell.

Then he released you and, although you were slightly unsteady on your feet, the lack of physical contact allowed you to regain some mental clarity. Oh, he was absolutely intoxicating. You knew in this moment that you could not trust yourself around Loki or his silver tongue.

“I will see you at the banquet, my lord,” you said, voice wavering, unable to meet his eyes. Then you curtsied clumsily and left the gardens to try and find your way back to your chamber. Your whole body was hot, and your brain was in a fog. You knew that Loki was right - if he was able to do so much to you with just his words, you could only imagine what would happen when he finally bedded you.


	3. The Banquet

The banquet was much more lavish than you could have ever imagined. Plates upon platters of food adorned a great number of tables, with drink aplenty and noble warriors galore. The grand balcony oversaw all of Asgard, providing a picturesque backdrop for the celebration. You had never seen such splendor.

Taking on your new role within Asgardian nobility, you socialized with ease. Through your many conversations, you learned that not only had you and another woman been selected today, but another four had been selected in the last few days. You had not realized that so many groups of young women had been brought into the palace with hopes of being selected. Evidently the majority of them had not been chosen, for the selection had finally drawn to a close. You had five other women to compete with, one of whom you already knew to be smug and catty. The holier-than-thou look she shot at you after being chosen would forever be burned into your memory. If she wanted to compete, you'd be more than happy to oblige.

And she was here, seated across from you and surrounded by many handsome warriors. Of course she was; she was gorgeous. Her laughter rang like the jangling of the many bracelets adorning her arms, musical and alluring, but to you it sounded forced - like she was putting on an elaborate show to draw the undivided attention of everyone around her. It was working. She was called Sigyn.

“Careful, darling,” a voice breathed into your ear and you jolted, turning to its owner. It was Loki. Of course it was. He gave you a look, dark and cautionary, before his gaze turned to the source of your contempt. “The daggers in your eyes are delightful,” he said, “but they do not belong at such a celebration.”

His comment caught you unprepared. It was painfully obvious to you now that Loki could read you like a book. In the gardens, he had told you that your emotions displayed so easily upon your face - and now, he had again been proven right. You understood that this was his way of warning you to better conceal your true feelings, for you knew not who else would take notice. Somehow you got the feeling that he was speaking from experience. 

You did not curtsy to him, for at the start of the banquet Odin had dismissed such pleasantries. Instead, you closed your eyes for a moment, willing away the ‘daggers’ as he had called them. Then, when you opened them again, you saw that he was now entirely focused on you. He was looking at _you_ , when everyone else was looking at _her_ , the spiteful wench, and to you it was the highest form of flattery.

“Thank you.” Immediately after you spoke, you felt that perhaps an apology would have served better. Glaring daggers at someone was not an attractive trait, but instead of being put off by it Loki had given you counsel.

“I assume it’s not unwarranted,” he responded, giving Sigyn a disinterested once-over before he looked back to you. “You don't seem the type to be unkind without reason.”

He had you pegged right down to a tee. How could he see through you so easily?

You shook your head. He was right, but you were embarrassed that he had seen you being so petty. “Pray forgive my foolishness, my lord.”

There it was again, his soft laugh. The sound was so pleasant to your ears. His hand casually came up to rest upon the delicate crook between your neck and shoulder, his fingers smoothing over your skin, his eyes taking in every inch of your imperfect beauty. It was only when you felt his touch again that you realized you had been longing for it.

“You aren’t foolish, pet." That was when his lips brushed against your own in the most fleeting of moments, so quick and so light that you nearly thought you had imagined it. Then his stunning green eyes met yours again, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “You’re lovely.”

With that, the warmth of his hand left you, and he stepped away. You lost sight of him in the crowd.

 

 

You heard your name called suddenly, a female voice, musical just like her laughter. When it broke you out of your reverie, you found that it belonged to the woman sitting across the great table from you, all faux smiles and façade.

“Aren’t you lucky,” Sigyn said with a precarious lilt. “You’ve already gained the favour of His Highness.” 

“And you have gained the favour of so many warriors,” you replied, trying and failing to keep the venom from seeping into your words. “Your stories are so thrilling, Lady Sigyn, that I can hardly believe them.” 

Her eyes bore into yours for a few moments, dangerous and intimidating, until she waved her hand dismissively. “Then why don’t you share one of yours? I’m sure we’d all just _love_ to learn more about you, wouldn't we?”

The group surrounding you both cheered you on, making it impossible for you to refuse. Downing the rest of your drink, you relented, preparing to tell a story just as riveting as hers had been. You could hold your own in battle - perhaps not as well as many Asgardians, but well enough, and surely some of them lacked your wit. What you failed to realize, however, was that as a concubine it was improper for you to talk of your own battles. Indeed, the Lady Sigyn had refrained from discussing such matters, instead having told the embellished tales of her brothers.

“We were surrounded,” you began, and you immediately noticed the smirk on her face. You were falling unsuspectingly into her trap. Doing your best to ignore her, you continued, “The creatures came closer and closer, and we had no plan of action. Disgusting things, they are, bilgesnipes.”

Many of your spectators looked somewhat displeased, and you assumed that it was because you were talking about those vile creatures.

“They outnumbered us, at least three of them for every one of us, but we would not surrender. No, we stood strong. Our home was at stake."

Those who did not look displeased looked on in curiosity.

“There was a large cliff in the distance. I ordered them to run to it. And we ran, but one of my own could not keep up. He was struggling and the creatures were gaining on us quickly. I had to make a decision. So I stabbed my claymore into the ground with all my might, angering what lie beneath.” At this, you slammed your hands on the table. “He _burst_ from the ground, ready to fight, a rock troll!”

Surprised gasps met your ears, egging you on. Another drink went down as smooth as water, and you became louder, full of enthusiasm.

“The troll easily destroyed the bilgesnipes, but then it turned on us. Of course, that was no surprise – I had expected it. They’re not smart, you know, trolls. Quite dull, in fact - dumb as a sack of rocks!” At this awful joke came peals of laughter from your audience, and you laughed along with them. “With our limited number, would it not have been simpler to take down a single rock troll than a hoard of bilgesnipes?”

“Indeed!” You heard a boisterous voice shout from among the crowd, and after a brief moment you located its owner. It was Thor, merry from drink and eager to hear more of your tale of triumph. You suddenly felt nervous; you had not spoken more than a handful of words to him, but now he was listening to you so keenly.

You tried to calm your nerves as you continued, “So we stood at the edge of the cliff cornered by this enormous rock monster, when suddenly–“ 

Your spectators were on the edge of their seats. As you looked around at them, you found that some still had clear looks of disapproval and Sigyn looked positively treacherous, her smirk ever widening.

“Suddenly a hammer flew into its center, and the troll disintegrated right before my very eyes!”

You watched as Thor’s face lit up, but silence fell over the crowd, as if they weren't sure you meant what they thought you meant.  

Then you gestured over at Thor who had been watching you so intently, and you enthusiastically announced, “Who had come to our rescue but His Highness, the God of Thunder!”

Wild cheers erupted from the crowd, and the smirk on Sigyn’s face instantly fell, to be replaced with a scowl. Despite your ignorant breach of etiquette in discussing your own triumph, you had managed to redeem yourself by invoking Thor’s name. Her scheme had failed. She would have to be mindful of you, suspicious and wary, because for all she knew this had been part of your plan.

It wasn’t. And you were not only ignorant to that breach of etiquette, but to her scheming nature.

Your story was true, however, and ever since that fateful day so many years ago – the day that Thor had saved you so easily, without even needing to dirty his hands – he had been the distant subject of your admiration. And now, now he was closer than ever before.


	4. The Balcony

As the party wound down, you found a quiet spot for a moment of respite, a more secluded balcony where you could look out upon the majestic city. You hadn’t been there for long when Thor’s familiar voice called your name and caught your attention.

He looked every part the perfect companion to such an exquisite view. His tanned skin seemed to glow in the soft light of the sunset and somehow it appeared so smooth, so flawless, despite the many battle scars you knew he must have. His kind smile warmed your heart, and secretly you took pleasure in how he had prefixed your name with ‘Lady’. It was similar to how one would speak of the Lady Sif. By using your new title, it showed his respect for you, but it would certainly take some time for you to adjust to the privilege.

You returned his smile and met his clear blue eyes with your own. “Hello, my lord.”

“I enjoyed your story,” he told you, the appreciation clear upon his face as he leaned against the fenced edge of the balcony beside you. The stone barrier was designed to prevent drunken Asgardians from falling into the streets below, and you thought absently that it must be useful in times such as these. “You wore red that day. It suits you.”

Your surprise at his good memory must have shown on your face for his eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Does that shock you?”

“Yes,” you admitted and, feeling flustered, you turned your gaze back to the city. How could he have remembered that you were wearing a red cloak that day? Not only had a great number of years passed since then, but that he had even taken note of it to begin with – it was an honour. “I am very flattered, Your Highness. Thank you.”

A comfortable silence fell between you both. It was just you and him here in this place, peaceful and calm despite the distant shouts of merriment and raucous laughter drifting through the air. 

“Do you like it?” he asked with genuine interest. “Having all of Asgard in your sights?”

“It’s beautiful.” Your voice carried a note of appreciation and another of sincerity. He did not doubt that it was real. “Although I fear that one day I will grow used to it, and no longer will it take my breath away.”

Thor's laughter was louder than his brother’s, but it was just as wonderful to hear. “Even now, it does not fail me.”

At the corner of your vision, you saw him turn towards you before his hand, large and warm and calloused, came to rest on your upper arm. When you did not shy away but rather leaned into his touch, his other hand came up to tilt your face toward him, his thumb caressing your flushed cheek.

Your face was hot under his touch, and you simply could not look away this time. The look in his eyes, kind with the slightest hint of need, lit a fire within you. Thor was strong, but gentle; powerful, and benevolent. He was every part the god and future king you knew him to be.

When he spoke again, his words were quiet, tender, and meant only for you. “Perhaps one day it will all be yours.”

Your pulse quickened, and your gaze trailed down to his lips, where you found that they looked just as soft as you had imagined. When they drew into another smile, your eyes snapped back up to meet his, and it was impossible to miss the playfulness that danced within them. He knew exactly where you had been looking.

Then he broke the spell. 

“Come,” he said with a certain hesitance, as if he did not want to leave but he knew he must. His thumb traced the faint outline of your cheekbone one final time before he pulled away altogether.  “We must return.”

The only thing you could do was nod your head, for your voice had caught in your throat. Thor’s hand came to rest on the small of your back as a means to escort you, and he kept it there even when the pair of you returned to the party. Only when he finally had to leave you did he take it away, but the warmth of his touch remained.


	5. The Room

Your celebratory evening ended without anything else of note: you socialized more, met the other new concubines and some great warriors, but you were terrible with names and as soon as the next morning you could not remember any of them. That, of course, may have also been because of drink.  

Sunlight streamed in the stained glass window of your room, casting bright colours upon your bed. You felt refreshed from sleeping so well on such comfortable bedding, and rose for the day unhurriedly. Mara had already laid out an outfit for you to wear, another silken gown, striking and vibrant. You pulled it on, and found that the dark shawl she selected paired with it perfectly.

“Mara,” you called hesitantly, unsure if she was still nearby.

“Yes, milady?” she responded from the other side of the door. She was very dedicated.

You pulled open the doors and beckoned her inside. “What do you think?”

“You look wonderful, milady,” she said with a smile. You did not doubt her honesty.

After you thanked her, she offered to do your hair and makeup. You did not refuse as you were not great at either of those things. Your mother had been the one to make you presentable for the selection, and now without her it was extremely possible that you would do a terrible job. Mara did a great job, however, and you thanked her again. Everything was a different style than what your mother would have done, less conservative and more flashy, but not too much. Even you could see that your servant’s handiwork suited you.

 

 

After you had finished the breakfast she had fetched for you - a simple meal of bread and jam, but more delicious than you'd ever tasted - you chose one of the books from your room and began to explore the palace again. Despite getting lost yesterday, you wanted to let your servant rest – she had spent quite the morning with you.  

You were planning to read your book out in the sunlight, in the gardens you had found the day before. Instead your feet betrayed you by drawing you deeper within the palace, to places where the sun did not reach. There was a staircase lit only by candles lining the walls. When faced with this quiet, muted darkness, your gut feeling was to go back. When you turned around to do so, however, there was a new wall blocking your path. What had been your way into this place was no longer your way out.

Where were you?

Your steps were cautious as you went further down the stairs, your nerves on edge. What was down there?

You soon learned the answer when you found a room at the bottom. Its walls were made of grey stone, not unlike the staircase, and there were no windows. A sofa and an end table made of dark wood sat atop a black fur rug, which was strategically placed in front of a glowing fireplace, the only light source in the room. To you, it seemed like such a waste of space to have such a large room with only a few things within it.

“Hello,” you called out nervously, your voice echoing off the barren walls.

When you received no response, you walked toward the fireplace, looking around the room for any sign of life: nothing but the crackling fire.

Well, it could be worse, you supposed. You were able to keep warm while you waited it out. And so you sat down on the sofa, feeling oddly luxurious as you brushed your fingertips against the plush green velvet. Perhaps you should have panicked, for you were essentially trapped in here, but you just didn’t see the use. Someone had lit this fire and they were bound to return.

You hummed to yourself as you pulled out the book, intending to read while you waited. The cover was worn, made of brown leather and adorned with gold lettering. It was a textbook on the various applications of magic. You probably should have picked one of the books on etiquette, but magic was far more interesting to you. Even though you could not use it, you found it admirable and sorely wished you could do something, anything with it. Perhaps that was why you were so fond of Loki, with all the tales you'd heard of of his magic and mischief. He and his mother were some of the best spellcasters in the realm. 

 

 

Time passed, and you grew weary. You were unsure how long you had been here, for the sun did not reach this place. What you did know was that your eyes were tired from reading in such a dimly-lit location, and you closed the book with a yawn, having gotten about halfway through. 

You just started nodding off when the book fell out of your lap and hit the floor with a dull thud. You rubbed your eyes tiredly and leaned down to pick it up, when suddenly it slid across the floor away from you. Brows furrowing in confusion, you got to your feet and walked over to it. Were you seeing things, or had it moved?

The second time you tried to pick it up, it moved again. No, you weren’t imagining it. 

A grumble of frustration left your mouth and you walked over to the book again. You stared at it for a few moments as it sat there, innocent and unmoving. There was no way that you were the one to make it move, but you raised your hand to it anyway, palm facing it as if perhaps you had. When this produced no result, you shook your hand once, for good measure, but still came up short. You felt a bitter twinge of disappointment at this, but forced it deep within.

So instead you pounced, quickly raising your foot to step on it in case it moved again. Regrettably, you miscalculated this and the moment your foot landed on it, it did move again, and with it went all of your weight out from under you. Your back smacked hard against the unforgiving stone floor and you groaned in pain from the impact.

Then you heard laughter. It was familiar.

“Your Highness,” you called out to Loki, voice carrying a clear note of annoyance, your eyes fixed upon the dark ceiling. “If you’re quite done, I would appreciate your help. It seems my book has a mind of its own.”

You knew, of course, that he was the one behind the trick. The dark-haired prince suddenly appeared before you, crouching down by your side with your book in his hand.

“This book?” he taunted, holding it up by a corner. 

You snatched it from him and hugged it to your chest, but the sudden movement caused your back to smart with pain. You must have made a face for he laughed again, his voice teasing and not a shred apologetic, “Oh, I’m sorry, pet.”

Even if it was at your expense, you enjoyed the sound.

“This was such a wonderful opportunity,” he told you, “Although I didn’t expect you to injure yourself. Really, darling, I’m in awe of your intelligence.”

Before you could make some witty retort at his playful jab, however, he snapped his fingers and suddenly you were floating.

“Put- Put me down!” you stammered, your voice carrying a slight note of desperation. It wasn’t the height that scared you, no; you were just inches off the ground. It was the fact that he had you trapped, here, with your body so under his control. Being trapped in a room was one thing, but being unable to move of your own accord was another.

A wicked grin broke out upon his lips. “Was that an order?”

“No, my lord, I-“ You cut yourself off when you saw his eyebrows raise, skeptical, and you remembered that Loki seemed to prefer your honesty. So you started again, willing your voice to sound calmer and more confident than you felt, “Yes, it was.”

Loki made a soft hum of approval, but you remained floating.

“Put me down,” you repeated, before adding the magical word, “ _please._ ”

“Getting closer,” he said, his enjoyment of your predicament quite clear, “but not quite.”

The look in his stunning green eyes was teasing, albeit slightly predatory, and you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. So you rephrased it again, as a question this time, “Please put me down, my lord?”

“Much better,” he responded, sounding pleased, and you finally landed back on your feet.

“Thank you.” You paused for a moment, making a conscious – and unwise - decision not to hold your tongue. “But I won't curtsy. Perhaps if a certain someone hadn’t treated me as a toy, I would.”

Then you directed a pointed look at him, full of irritation but with an undercurrent of delight.

“Oh? Feeling brave, are we?”

When he stepped closer to you, you somehow stood your ground, staring defiantly up at him. He was close enough to touch, now, and you sorely wanted to reach out to him but your pride would not allow it. In his eyes you saw mischief, paired with a distinct heat that you knew all too well. That feeling was mirrored in your own.

“I am not your plaything,” you told him, just daring him to make a move. In your heart you knew it was a lie.

Loki was not one to refuse a challenge. Something about it was greedy, the way he looked at you. His hands came to rest upon your sides, and with them he pulled your body flush against him, a mock repeat of your encounter in the gardens.

Your bravado dissipated into thin air.

“Still so dishonest.” His voice was low, now, full of need. One of his hands slid up your side, briefly skimming the outer edge of your breast on its way up before it stopped at your neck. Everywhere he touched felt like fire. His thumb came to rest on one side of your pulse and his fingers on the other. He was dangerous. You were vulnerable. With his hand on your neck, he had complete control over your body and, this time, you did not mind it. Rather, the opposite; a shiver of pleasure overcame you at the thought.

“Punish me for my insolence,” you breathed. It wasn’t a request; it was an order. You knew now that Loki didn’t take orders, so you chose your words with deliberate provocation.

He had originally intended to make you wait, make you beg as time went on; he wanted to draw this out as slowly as possible. But upon seeing the wanton lust in your eyes, along with the scarlet flush of desire on your cheeks and under his fingertips, his resolve cracked. Perhaps he would have just a taste.

His lips crashed down upon yours in a fervent kiss, his mouth hot, hungry against your own, his tongue dominating your mouth with ease and leaving you breathless. His fingers left your neck to tangle themselves in your hair in an attempt to bring you even closer. When that didn’t work, he roughly pulled your head back by your hair, breaking the kiss and wrenching an ungraceful moan from your throat.

“Lovely,” he whispered, his voice as hot as the blazing trail of kisses he followed it with down your neck, only stopping when he arrived where his fingers had been. There he left a mark.

Your arms came to rest around his shoulders, and your body moved on its own when you ground your hips into his. You could clearly feel the evidence of his desire against your clothed core, hot and hard and concealed by leather. He grit his teeth at the intimate contact, and then with another snap of his fingers you were on the sofa and he was above you. Your gown was hiked up around your waist, revealing your delicate underclothes and some of your bare stomach. From this position, he was able to grind himself into you even harder, ripping another breathy moan from you and his resolve to shreds.

“Don’t tempt me further,” Loki groaned into your ear, trying to hold onto what little of his self-control remained.  “I won’t be merciful.”

Your body arched into him in sweet surrender. It was no longer yours, but his, and you desperately needed him to make use of it. Your mind was so clouded with lust, unbridled and burning and in this moment you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anything: not fame, not status, not even his brother who you had admired for so long. The junction between your thighs was throbbing, soaked with need and you were beyond ready for him to put you out of your misery.

“I don’t want you to be,” you gasped.

At this, Loki clenched his jaw and - somehow - managed to resist your pleas, roughly pushing himself off of you and leaving you a hot, incoherent mess. Your body shamelessly longed for him, and you cared not about your disheveled appearance in that moment. At the prolonged absence of his touch, you opened your eyes and looked around the room for him, but he was gone.


	6. The Humiliation

After you had regained some of your composure, you tried the stairs again. You got the feeling that this room belonged to Loki, but you knew not its purpose. When you found the staircase unblocked, your theory was all but confirmed and at last, you were able to leave - but you didn’t particularly want to. You wanted to stay in hopes that he would return to finish what you had started.  

Your panties were thoroughly drenched because of him, the soft material sticking uncomfortably to your most intimate places. You could only imagine how mussed your hair was, how smudged your makeup and you prayed that no one would see you as you tried to find your way back to your room.

You were not as lucky as you had hoped to be.

Thor suddenly rounded a corner just as you were coming up and nearly knocked you off your feet in the process. Alarmed, he caught you easily, and you stammered a quick apology as you curtsied unsteadily to him. Your skin burned under his touch, your body still thoroughly on edge from unfinished business. You kept your face downcast, however, knowing what a sight you must be.

As Thor’s eyes swept across your disheveled form, he felt a brief surge of anger. To him, it looked more like you had just been in a fight rather than the alternative. Your gown was torn in a few places, and the bruises on your neck only served to further his assumption. His words were heated: “My lady, who did this to you?”

You must have looked just as bad as you feared. Still, you weren’t sure what to say – you were not only his concubine, but Loki’s too. He must have known this.

At your hesitation, Thor placed a supportive hand on your shoulder.

“Do not worry,” he told you, but his voice betrayed his anger when he had intended it to comfort. “We will find who hurt you.”

Oh no. It seemed as though he was misunderstanding the situation. You did look thoroughly ruined; did he perhaps think something worse had happened?

 “My lord,” you said quietly, “I am quite alright.”

He tried to catch your eyes, but you refused to meet his gaze. The humiliation was too great. Your cheeks flushed as you recalled in explicit detail exactly who had done this to you.

That was when it all clicked into place for Thor. He had mixed feelings; jealousy was a given, and there was also a sense of inadequacy. Then there was another surge of rage, because his brother had left you to pick up the pieces alone. You likely didn’t know your way around the palace yet, so you had to wander around in such a state, lost and unable to return to your chambers.

Swallowing his pride, he asked you gently, “Do you know your way?”

You shook your head, chewing on your lip in embarrassment.

At your response, he tore the red cape from his armour and wrapped it around your small frame, allowing you some shred of modesty.

“I’ll see you to your chambers.” Just as before, his hand found the small of your back as he began to escort you along the corridor. The action filled your heart with warmth, but you could not shake the nervous feeling in your gut.

“Your Highness, please do not worry about me. I’m fine.”

Thor visibly tensed next to you at this, however. That was not the result you were hoping for. When he looked over at you again, you met his eyes this time with faux confidence, as if to add legitimacy to your request.  

“You may be fine with this,” he said with a twinge of frustration, “but I am not. It is disrespectful.”

Your heart sank at his words. You had neither meant to anger him nor disrespect him.

At the crestfallen expression on your face, Thor realized that he had been careless in choosing his words. He cleared his throat, awkwardly wrapping an arm around your shoulders as a small comfort, and clarified, “What I mean to say is that Loki has disrespected you.”

You looked up at him in surprise. He wasn’t angry _at_ you; he was angry _for_ you. You realized now that Thor felt that Loki had not cared for you properly, by forcing you to walk the halls in such a state.

Well, he wasn’t wrong. You spoke softly, apologetically, “I am sorry for troubling you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, squeezing you a little via the strong arm around your shoulders. “Do not worry. I will have words with him.”

While you could see that his anger was dissipating slowly, replaced with kind words and consoling gestures, you knew that some of that rage would remain for Loki to face.

Having arrived at your chambers, Thor released you carefully, almost like he thought that you’d shatter to pieces right in front of him. But you didn’t, because you were far more resilient than you let on. Right now, however, you must have looked anything but.

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, curtsying to him. You were steadier on your feet this time. As your hands held his cape tightly around yourself, Thor gave you a lovely smile and your heart skipped a beat.

“Get some rest,” he told you. It was an order, but a gentle one. Then he left a quick kiss upon your forehead, and you to your thoughts.

 

 

Inside your room was Mara, tidying things up for your return. When you opened the doors, she jumped to attention.

“Milady!” Her voice held a note of alarm due to your appearance. “Are you alright?”

You nodded with a smile. “I am fine, thank you. I simply require a bath and a change of clothing.”

She looked thankful that you were okay. “I’ll prepare it for you right away.” Then she left to draw the bath.

You took this moment to finally look at yourself in the mirror. You looked _so_ much worse than you imagined. Your gown was torn in a number of places, most of which were at the back and hem – for that reason, you hadn’t noticed until now. Your hair, tangled and messy, did nothing to conceal the dark red marks on your neck. The deliberate spread of Loki’s love bites offered the illusion that someone had grabbed you roughly by the throat. And your face, oh, what on Asgard had Thor thought when he saw you? Your eyeliner was smudged as if you had been crying, and while your lipstick had faded, your lips looked just as sore and bruised as they felt. Would you end up like this every time Loki had his wicked way with you?

But there was a certain beauty in your ruined appearance, and you found that you did not mind it so much. What bothered you was that Thor had seen it, and that was absolutely mortifying.


	7. The Enigma

The magnificent bath adjacent to your room smelled strongly of roses. When you approached, you saw why: a great number of red rose petals, too many to count, covered the water and you basked in the lovely scent. It was luxurious. You stepped into the bath slowly and then sank to a seated position, so that the water came up to your shoulders. Almost instantly, the tension in your body started to float away. The scent was so relaxing, and with the water so warm… It felt divine.

When you closed your eyes, you almost expected for Loki to appear there, to ream you for snitching to his brother or to ravish you for riling him up - perhaps one after the other in quick succession. You were unsure what would be his reaction the next time you saw him.

Would he be angry?

Would he take it out on you?

That familiar heat began to pool in your abdomen and you tried to shake it away. One encounter with the trickster was enough for today. He didn’t need to invade your thoughts, too.

But Thor – yes, Thor had been so kind to you. He had helped you even though he knew Loki had just had his way with you. He was upset that his brother had forced you to walk around so disheveled without knowing your way.  Even in his anger, he was beautiful.

You remembered the feel of his muscular arm around your shoulders, so strong and comfortable and warm. He had held you so protectively, so carefully, like you would shatter to pieces at any moment.

Still, you absolutely could not shake off the feeling of desire. You had been left unsatisfied and wanting, and even when you tried to direct your thoughts elsewhere it just turned back to the two of them: one you had barely touched, and one you could never touch enough.

Giving in to the feeling, you slid your fingers between your slick folds in an attempt to finally quell the heat in your abdomen. You explored yourself in just the way you liked, slowly at first, then faster as your thoughts became less and less pure.

Loki, with all of his mysterious charm, with all of his teasing and taunting and leaving you an absolute mess – he was more than you could handle. He had put you under his spell, green eyes captivating and dark with lust and it really was no wonder that you had found yourself so powerless against him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you recalled every last detail of your previous encounter.

Your fingers moved more quickly against your bundle of nerves as you thought of how he had worked your body so skillfully that you were nearly undone by just his words and his kisses. He was so playful, so dominant, so wonderfully wicked. You wanted more of him.

And then, where your encounter with Loki ended, your shameless mind conjured a continuation in the form of Thor. You imagined him directing that beautiful anger toward you, for falling under his brother’s spell. He wouldn’t be gentle, no, not when he’s angry with you; he would be so incredibly rough, and you’d love every second of it. He would do his best not to break you, but he’d offer no guarantees. His thick cock – you imagined it so considering his stature - could very well split you open as he slid inside you, stretching you out to the brim and making you scream in pleasure. And, where Loki had left you wanting, you knew that Thor would not relent until you were thoroughly and blissfully spent.

At that thought, you pressed down harder against your bundle of nerves and, at last, the heat in your abdomen was too hot, unbearably so. Your strangled cry echoed off the walls of your bathroom as you finally came undone.

 

 

After you regained your composure – for the second time that day - along a proper, clothed appearance, you found yourself wanting to stay in your chambers. How could you look at Thor the next time you saw him, when your thoughts of him were so impure?  How could you face Loki, whose wrath you would without a doubt incur?

You sighed, unable to focus on the book of etiquette you were trying to read. It was useless. Sooner or later, you would have to face the pair of them and you knew it – so sooner it would be.

As you walked down the corridor, you tried to make a mental note of its location. You would be sure to recall your steps, this time, so that you didn’t get lost again.

You hadn’t gotten very far when you spotted two other concubines up ahead. Neither of them was Sigyn, thankfully, and for the life of you you could not remember their names.

They were chatting cheerfully between themselves as you approached, and you greeted them with a smile. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Neither you nor they curtsied as you were all of the same rank. Instead, they greeted you warmly and allowed you to join in on their gossip.

“Lady Asta,” said the fairer, more delicate one, “I simply cannot believe how scandalous she is.”

The other one, named Asta, let out a boisterous laugh. She was every bit Thor’s equal in that regard. “I cannot understand how her dress became so ruined, Lady Freja. The fabric is nearly impossible to tear!” She pulled hard at her silk skirt and it stretched considerably, but did not tear. “You see? Our clothing was sewn to be resilient!”

Their conversation worried you. Were they talking about you?

“She was in an awful state,” Freja giggled. “How could she walk around like that? So shameless!”

You cleared your throat awkwardly and piped up, “May I ask who is shameless?”

“Lady Sigyn,” Freja whispered. “I saw her this afternoon. She looked terrible. It seems that one of our princes had his way with her, and he was not kind.”

“But why would she walk these halls in such a way?” you asked nervously. “Surely it must have happened behind closed doors, where she could clean up after?”

Asta shrugged, thinking it over.

“I don’t know,” Freja said, “but she was crying. Perhaps she was embarrassed!”

At that, you finally felt relief. You had not been crying, although with your smudged makeup it may have looked like you had. Beyond that, surely Freja must have gotten a good look at this woman’s face to see her tears. If it were you, would she not have immediately recognized you?

Then you realized what Freja had said, that Sigyn was crying. You did not like her, but you were sympathetic to her plight, whatever it may be. What had her so upset? And, more importantly, which prince had caused it?

 

 

After a few more minutes of gossip, you excused yourself and continued to walk down the corridor. These girls loved to talk about things that you would rather they didn’t, but they were nice enough.

You stopped for a moment to check that you could still remember where you were. Good: you could. Perhaps this time you would not get lost.

Your feet led you to the palace gardens, where you had originally wanted to go this day. You had finally figured out your way here, but it was a shame that you no longer had your book - the poor thing had been left forgotten in that mysterious room of Loki’s. No matter. You could still enjoy the scenery.

 

 

Deep within the garden amongst the lovely flowers you located one of the princes you desperately did not want to see. And judging by the dangerous look in his eyes, he was not happy to see you either.

“You,” he hissed, his words laced with venom as he approached you, “You vile _wench_.”

Before you could observe proper etiquette, Loki's vicious approach made you forget it altogether and instead you bristled at his insult. “Say that again, Your Highness, and you _will_ regret it.”

Despite your bravado, however, you flinched when he raised a hand. Loki faltered almost unnoticibly before he instead opted to grip your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. He was angry, much more than you had expected. You were all bark and no bite, though, and heknew it; how would you, you weak thing, make him regret it when you flinched so easily, when you couldn’t even break free of his hold?

“You dared to tell my brother,” his fingers tightened painfully, “that I treated you like a common whore? What, did you go crying to him when I _respectfully,_ ” he spat the word, “kept us both wanting?”

“Unhand me,” you demanded.

 “You did, didn’t you,” he growled, roughly releasing his grip on you which caused you to stumble. “You went to him to finish what I started, and then you—“

At the accusation, you felt the rage bubble up inside of you and then, as if on instinct, your palm connected harshly with the side of his face. The slap echoed loudly off the palace’s exterior walls, but you did not feel a shred of sympathy for him.

“You will not touch me in that manner _ever_ again,” you snarled at him, your words full of contempt. When you took a furious step forward, Loki took one step back. “Do you understand?” 

He was not intimidated, nor was he fearful, but the second you slapped him the fire of his rage had weakened to an insignificant smolder. Upon him came the immediate realisation that was out of line, that you were scared of him, and that you were afraid he would go so far as to strike you. Worse still was that he may very well have, had he been allowed to continue. 

You stood there glaring at each other in silence for a short while, your eyes full of disgust and his with bitter regret. It gave him the opportunity to see the angry red marks he had left near your beautiful lips, from his harsh grip on your chin, along with the love bites further down that he had given you so passionately just hours prior. Quite the contrast. 

Finally Loki spoke, calmer and more collected this time, the exact opposite of you, “I did not mean to hurt you.”

You snorted derisively in response, crossing your arms as a subconscious way of shielding yourself from him. It was unladylike, but you cared not.

He held his hands up in a show of surrender.

You stared him down.

“My brother came to me,” Loki started with a sigh, “Because he thought I had no respect for you. He was angry. It was quite the sight.”

When Loki was angry, he could be quite the sight, too, you thought.

“When he found you, he thought you’d been beaten. Your gown was torn and you were covered in bruises. You’d been crying.”

“I did _not_ cry,” you corrected him, tone sharp. “My makeup ran during our…” Your sentence trailed off for a moment, cheeks flushing from a delicate mixture of irritation and embarrassment as you started again, “I was an absolute mess.”

At that, you shot him a look that clearly conveyed your lack of appreciation. For a brief moment, Loki’s eyebrows raised at this. That disappeared as quickly as it came, however, soon replaced with that cool expression with which you were more familiar.

“He also said that you could not find your way back to your chambers. Really, darling, you should be flattered by how much he cares for you.”

Now that was a very clear jab. You wondered for a moment if he was purposely trying to drive you away altogether, but then you remembered that their sibling rivalry was not exactly a well-kept secret. It was more likely that he was just letting off steam - so you decided to ignore it, as much as you wanted to do otherwise. “I haven’t learned my way around yet. It was humiliating to wander about in such a state.”

There was a brief pause as he considered this, before he said, “It did not occur to me that you wouldn’t know your way.” Hesitantly, he reached out to rest his hand upon your cheek. It felt familiar. You did not pull away. “I’m sorry.”

You did not doubt his sincerity, for his thumb gently traced the angry red marks he’d left on your chin in an attempt to soothe them. They did not hurt, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. You leaned into his palm and shut your eyes.

“Thank you."

Then you were pulled against him, his other arm wrapping around your shoulders in a gentle embrace. You blinked in surprise at this, as he buried his face in your hair and took a quiet breath. Perhaps he was stopping to smell the roses, as it were.  

There was still some tension between the two of you, but you tried to focus more on how good it felt to be in his arms. It was peaceful and relaxing, but it could not last, not when you still felt so on edge from the unbridled hostility he’d directed toward you.

With a regretful sigh, you pulled away. His hands briefly lingered.

“I fear that if we keep running into each other like this, my lord, the other ladies of the court won’t be able to enjoy your company as I do.”

Loki studied your face for a moment, as if searching for a sign of jealousy or upset upon it. There was none, only a deliberate calmness, rational and matter-of-fact, second only to his own which he would have otherwise appreciated if not for the subject at hand.

“Are you so willing to be rid of me? So willing to share?” he asked you incredulously.  “Darling, I am wounded by your words.”

At that, you finally laughed. To you it sounded genuine, but it was just as calculated as your expression. You needed to keep your distance. You couldn’t trust him, nor could you trust your state of mind around him; he was dangerous.

“I am only being fair,” you replied, avoiding his question and his eyes, instead focusing your attention on a very interesting flower bush beside you. Yes, you were envious. So much, in fact, that you had to keep it bottled up within lest he thought you to be a _jealous_ wench, too. You had no right to keep him to yourself, while that he had every right to bed – or not, as he had not yet gone through with it with you - whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. That was your role: you were one of many women to serve his every whim. “Your Highness, you are much too wonderful for only one woman.” 

When you did not receive a response, you finally risked a look at him and regretted it immediately. For a moment you thought that his anger had returned, for his expression was dark, incensed, and full of another emotion that you could not place. He looked almost mystified by your response, brows furrowed, lips parted just slightly as if he had something to say but the words would not come.

Then, when his eyes locked with yours again, he seemed to find his voice. “As you wish.”

After that, Loki left you there alone in the garden, not looking back at you once, but your gaze never left him until the gilded double doors leading back inside closed behind him, and you could see him no longer. Then your knees went weak and you slid to the ground. That awful tension had disappeared, only to be replaced with the bitter taste of remorse.

Loki was an enigma, a mystery that you would never be able to solve.


	8. The Armoury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the love, everyone!

More than two weeks passed and Loki did not once grace you with his presence. Instead, the marks he’d left on your neck had faded and in the meantime you’d heard rumours from Asta and Freja that he had been spending his time with Sigyn. Of course he had. There was no doubt in your mind that he would have bedded her, now, after all this time. She would have been the first. The very thought was upsetting.

Loki had of course spoken to your two new friends as well, but from what they told you he had always been cordial in his responses and had not yet tried to court either of them. Freja was more worried about this than Asta. While Freja was more delicate and more easily bothered, nothing seemed to get to Asta; she was very strong. It may have also been because Thor had taken a keen interest in her, which wasn't surprising, considering the two were very similar in many regards. 

It was perhaps your downfall that you had, unlike them, felt not only Loki’s hot kisses but also Thor’s kind touch. It was a fact that they knew, for there were eyes and ears everywhere in the palace, and it was apparent in Freja’s case that it had altered her perception of you. She was envious. You pitied her.

At the very least, the three of you shared a common enemy in Sigyn. You never found out what had upset her that day, but judging by Asta and Freja’s stories about their own encounters with her, you started to think that perhaps she had deserved it.

This sentiment was only confirmed through all the reading you had done over the past couple of weeks. Of all the many books that adorned the shelves in your chamber, the majority were on palace etiquette. You forced yourself to get through some of them to better perform your duties, and as a result had discovered Sigyn's scheming nature. It hadn't been a severe breach of etiquette to boast of your own triumphs like a male warrior at your introductory banquet, but a faux pas: unladylike behaviour, not befitting of a concubine in the least. You would have to be more careful.

You had also learnt during your studies that there were more titles and ranks within the palace than you’d ever thought. The harem was no exception. While "Lady" was used in polite conversation to address all women in the harem, it was the lowest rank. In fact, there were a total of four ranks, with varying levels of greatness and responsibility. The highest honour, Princess - and perhaps eventually Queen - was received after a prince took her hand in marriage. As his wife, it was her responsibility to oversee the harem and assist him in matters of diplomacy. This you already knew, for it was what you and the others were striving towards. The step below, Princess-Consort, was a temporary one, given after a marriage proposal but before the wedding ceremony. Then came the rank of Consort, which, while rarely used, could be earned by gaining favour under exceptional circumstances. A Consort, like the others, had authority over the ladies below - namely those of your rank, “Lady”. As it stood for now, you and the others were all the same.

That was going to change. 

 

 

As you walked through the now-familiar corridors, a call of your name, respectfully prefixed with your title, drew your attention to a pair of clear blue eyes.

“Your Highness,” you greeted the golden-haired prince with a smile. Over the past couple of weeks, you had gotten to know him better, and you were able to speak to him so easily now. No longer did you feel starstruck, for you saw him as he was: beautiful, and flawed. Not that that was a bad thing; in fact, it made you care even more for him. That he was quick to anger and full of pride helped you relate to him in a way that you had not yet done with his brother. And, perhaps, you never would, for Loki had made an obvious point of avoiding you.

Thor’s lovely eyes crinkled up at the corners in just the way you liked as he returned your smile. “Where are you off to, my lady?”

“I had thought to train,” you responded kindly. “I haven’t yet since my arrival.”

While it was unladylike to talk of your triumphs, it was an Asgardian value to be well-versed in the art of combat, man or woman. For you, it was an uphill battle, for your physical strength pared in comparison to your mental prowess. Even so, you could pack a punch, and you were more than willing to demonstrate. Before you could offer, however—

“Well then,” Thor said, bursting with enthusiasm, “I shall join you for a bout!”

You blinked at him in surprise. Oh, you would get pummelled, for sure, but at least it would be fun. So you nodded at him, eager to start but not as much to get your arse handed to you. “That would be an honour, my lord.”

Slinging a casual arm around your shoulders – as he typically did nowadays; he had made it a habit, and you were accustomed to it by now – he escorted you outside to the training grounds with the welcome accompaniment of cheerful conversation.

 

 

When you arrived, you were greeted with the most expansive armoury you had ever laid eyes on. Countless sharpened weapons of varying sizes, some shining brilliant gold and some of silver, were displayed proudly on the walls, amongst thick, heavy shields you would be unable to don and various armours of both plate and leather in too many sizes to count.

“My lord,” you spoke after you had regained your voice, “This is superb.”

Thor’s boisterous laughter met your ears. “Not something you’re familiar with, I take it?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. I come from a small village. Not even my home was this large.”

Another hearty laugh came from him and you found yourself laughing too.

“Come,” he said warmly. “Select a weapon. I will wait for you outside.”

You nodded at him, and he left to wait as he said he would while you slowly walked around the armoury. In the satchel you brought along was a small memento of home, a heavy leather belt designed to hold the heft of not only a sheathed claymore but some knives as well. It matched the winter cloak you’d left in your chambers – a striking red. The worn leather was imprinted with a design, feminine and dangerous: floral at first glance, but skillfully woven amongst the delicate petals were a pair of snakes.  

You secured the belt around your waist before you selected a set of armour that seemed to suit, made of a lighter type of plate than most others. For your bottom half, you just went with leather as you wanted to stay agile, and in lieu of a shield you instead selected your favourite weapon, a beautiful silver claymore quite unlike the one you left at home. Its handle was set with jewels that sparkled rainbows in the light, just as colourful as the Bifrost. It would be a shame to keep it sheathed. You also selected a pair of knives that looked plain until you handled them – then the blades glowed blue. Those you secured at your waist.

When you stepped outside, Thor greeted you with a smile before you walked with him over to the pitch, sword in hand, ready to lose.

“I’ll go easy on you,” he teased, standing a short distance away from you.

“Oh?” Your eyes glimmered with mischief. “Surely you do not think so little of me, my lord.”

With that, you broke into a run, the tip of your sword leaving a trail behind you in the dirt of the pitch. Everything felt so much lighter than at home; the armour you wore, and the claymore which heavy enough to do significant damage but in your grasp felt light as a feather. 

You reached him faster than expected and swung it down upon him with a sharp cry, but he dodged your attack easily. You had expected it, however, and you released one hand from your sword to swing your arm around behind you and, with a satisfying crack, you lay your elbow into his side. A painful grunt rewarded you, and you grinned at him.

“Still plan to go easy on me?” you taunted.

His eyes shone with enjoyment. “Perhaps not.”

Then it was your turn to block, and you barely managed to do so, his attacks coming in harder and faster than you anticipated. You could not break away to attack him again under his onslaught until you suddenly ducked and rolled, leaving your sword behind in the soil.

“You’ve already lost your weapon,” he called out to you with a laugh, almost as if to mock you but he was much too kind to do it outright.

“Have I?” you responded, running to him again and slinging a handful of soil in his direction. He shielded his eyes easily, but it distracted him long enough for you to regain hold of your sword. Then, with the momentum you had gained, you slid on your knees along the dirt and slipped in between his legs, only to come out behind him.

He turned around just as you slashed the claymore down upon him, and this time he barely dodged out of the way. The sword sliced through a few golden strands of hair, and as they floated through the air you could not help but admire your handiwork. Your narcissism proved to be your downfall, however, as you were suddenly thrown into the wall of the armoury, your back connecting harshly with the stone wall. The heavy stones cracked under your weight, wrenching a pained groan from your throat.

As you looked back at the pitch, back at Thor, your vision blurred a bit and you swayed a little on your feet. He approached slowly; had he come to you more quickly, as if this were a proper battle, you’d have been long dead.

“What happened to your confidence, my lady?” he teased.

You shut your eyes for a moment so as to will away the blurriness, and then you opened them, focusing your gaze upon him again. Your lips pulled into a devilish smile.

“Still here,” you told him, finally stabilizing your stance as he came closer.

When he had gotten just close enough, you threw your sword down onto the ground, using Thor’s brief moment of confusion to attempt an even closer strike with the pair of knives you’d selected. They were easier to handle than you thought they would be, but when you swung them down upon him Thor’s hands easily caught your wrists, preventing your attack from landing. He held your wrists tightly - not enough to hurt - but you still could not break free.

“Clever attempt,” he said, his voice low, “but your tricks seem to have failed you this time.”

You puffed out your cheeks a bit, pouting ungracefully. Your temperature rose at his close proximity. From this short distance you could see, and feel, exactly how muscular he was. “Well, my lord, you _are_ a prince of Asgard—“ 

Then his lips found yours, effectively cutting you off, and your heart began to pound a fervent tattoo against your ribcage. The grip on your knives loosened, before they quietly fell into the dirt. His kiss was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to his overpowering strength and the heated competition you’d just shared. When he pulled you closer, your body positively melted against him and his muscular arms slid around your waist to hold you steady.

It did not take long for the kiss to deepen, his desire becoming quite evident as he backed you into the wall the pair of you had damaged. You hissed softly against his lips from the pain as your bruised back once again made contact, but when you felt him start to pull away to check on you, you entangled your fingers within his hair and pulled him back in for more.

His mouth was hot on yours, hungry and full of need. His tongue worked yours much more expertly than you had expected, full of confidence – in your hazed mind you supposed it made sense that he _would_ have experience with this sort of thing. Your palms splayed against the front of his armour before they slid underneath, near his stomach. Beneath your exploring fingers was a thin layer of cloth, beyond which you could feel his hard abs, chiseled and every bit as erotic as you’d imagined. Your hands moved further up and you relished the feel of his muscles dancing under your fingertips.

His lips left yours, then, to leave a kiss at the corner of your mouth, one on your jaw, and another against your pulse, sending chills down your spine. His tongue laved against your neck there, and his hot breath against your now moistened skin sent another shiver through you, goosebumps raising in all the spots he kissed you. Your arms came up to wrap around his shoulders, fingers again entangling within his hair to hold him close, soft moans of pleasure escaping you as he thoroughly worked your neck.

Then a sharp voice caught your attention, and you felt Thor’s body tense against you.

“The training grounds, brother? In broad daylight?”

You looked over Thor’s shoulder through half-lidded eyes to see Loki standing there, glaring daggers at the pair of you. An angry thought of the word ‘hypocrite’ came to you almost instantly. Loki had kissed you at the banquet, even if it was fleeting. That was much more public than this.  

Thor released you gently and then turned to face his brother. You silently appreciated the fact that he had continued to stand in front of you, acting as a shield of sorts.  

“What can I say,” Thor began; his voice held a lighthearted tone, but also the barest hint of a challenge, “I could not resist her beauty any longer.”

They stared at each other for a moment in silence, sparks flying. It was so quiet that you could hear birds chirping in the distance, before you saw Loki’s eyes turn to the weapons at your feet. An even greater flash of anger lit within him, noticeable even to you as he saw what was there: his knives. When his gaze finally met yours again, deadly and full of disgust, you felt yourself shrink under his glare.

“Her beauty?” Loki spat the words, a derisive laugh following shortly after. “Careful, brother, or you’ll fall into her web. She’s full of spite.”

Then, after shooting you one last bitter look, he turned and left the two of you to yourselves. He had insulted you – why? You had done nothing wrong. In fact, you had been doing exactly as your title implied.

Thor’s gentle voice pulled you out of your reverie. He called your name, this time without the prefix, not out of a lack of respect but more a show of intimacy. When you looked up at him, he gave you a concerned look, but said nothing.

“Please do not worry, my lord, I’m fine,” you told him, offering a smile. You weren’t fine. No, you were fairly upset, but you would keep it locked down so as not to spoil the day. Instead, you teased him in an attempt to change the subject, “Aren't you?”

“Of course,” he said with a laugh, one much quieter than usual. It seemed sarcastic, almost. “Then again, I am quite familiar with Loki’s anger.” 

You were not. 

You paused for a moment, anxiously chewing your lip as you studied his face. Surely he was more upset than he let on, for the laughter did not carry to his eyes like it typically did and his jaw was tensely set. You wondered if you looked the same.

"Is he often angry with you?” 

Thor took a moment to consider your question, before he placed a comforting hand atop your head, his eyes gentle and kind. “Yes, but I've come to accept it. He wouldn’t get angry if he didn’t care in some way.”   

“You are very optimistic,” you mused as you stooped down to collect the weapons you’d so carelessly discarded. When the knives glowed blue again, you felt that the shade matched the feeling in your heart. You weren’t just upset. You were sad. Hurt. And you didn't know why. 

“He will calm down in time,” Thor reassured you as he helped you carry your weapons back to the armoury. He was so kind, almost unbearably so in this moment. You felt guilty that _he_ was comforting _you_ , when he was much closer to his brother than you were. Surely it hurt him more than it did you.

A silence, one perhaps not as comfortable as others you two had shared in the past, fell upon you as you returned the weapons along with your armour to their proper places. Then, he spoke again, his voice soft. “Are you upset?”

You looked up at him again, and, upon seeing his uncertainty, you shook your head. Then you wrapped your arms around his middle and rested your cheek against his chest, enjoying the warmth he provided. Ever since you arrived, Thor had been so reliable; Loki had not. You truly weren’t sure what you had seen in the latter, and after this, all you wanted to do was forget about him.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the feeling of Thor’s strong arms wrapped around you.

“Thank you, Thor.”

In response, he gave you a gentle squeeze and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. It seemed that he did not mind being called by his name, instead of a title like you usually used for him. It was more intimate, after all, and the pair of you had just shared an intimate moment, even if it had been so rudely interrupted. Out of respect for Thor, you willed your attentions to stay here, on him, on this moment – not on his brother. Not again.


	9. The Gift

When you returned to your chambers for the evening, it felt as though all the energy had been sapped from you. Not only were you exhausted, but your bruised body ached horribly as a result of your harsh training. You hadn’t trained so roughly in a long time, so to exert yourself so much – to _crack a wall_ with your body weight – it came as no surprise that you were sore.

Your body hadn’t been the only thing to suffer abuse, however. Loki’s harsh words had once again gotten to you, and you found that you could not will them away so easily. Your mind was in a state of confusion, of regret, and of anger – more at yourself than at him, for allowing yourself to fall victim to his mistreatment once again.

Gingerly, you sank into the bath that Mara had drawn for you, hoping that the warm water would soothe your aching muscles and the dark bruises that marred your skin. The roses scattered atop the bath water were meant to relax you, but they only made you more anxious. The scent of roses was becoming more associated with bad memories than pleasant ones. 

“Milady,” called Mara from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

 A sob echoed off the white tiled walls, and you found that your vision had gone blurry with tears. You realized suddenly that the sound had come from you.

“I’m fine,” you told her hoarsely, for what felt like the umpteenth time that day.

You weren’t fine. You weren’t. And you hated him for it.

 

The night passed slowly, for sleep would not take you. And, as the night progressed, your earlier tears turned to bitter resentment. Loki had treated you badly from day one, by acting so entitled and always unnervingly trying to push you past your limits. You had never been comfortable around him, not really, and with this realization came another: he was so, so talented at manipulating you, and you’d had enough.

You remembered that according to your friends, he’d been spending most of his time with Sigyn, whose schemes were just dreadful as Loki’s lies. Of course he had. You couldn’t think of anyone who suited him better.

As the sun began to risem you decided that you would focus your attentions on Thor. In every interaction and intimate moment you’d had with him, he had always been kind to you, no matter the circumstance. He had always cared about your wellbeing, even when you were sparring together. Rven when he could have seriously hurt you, he held back for your sake.

With Thor, you knew you’d never be manipulated. 

With Thor, you knew you’d never feel this anger, this betrayal, this loathing.

 

It wasn’t until the afternoon that you roused awake. At some point, you had finally fallen asleep, and for that you were grateful. The endless tossing and turning throughout the night had fatigued you, what with your mind being thoroughly put through its paces with negative thoughts and bitter memories.

As you got out of bed, you saw that another outfit had been laid out for you, no doubt from Mara. There was also a note in her handwriting, advising you that Thor had come by your chamber in the early morning to speak with you. Due to your… fragile state the prior night, Mara had advised him that you were unfortunately not feeling well and would speak with him another time.

She was very observant, your servant. You appreciated her very much.

And so you pulled on the gown she had selected, and called for her to make you look presentable. The material was a muted colour, this time, and Mara styled your hair to match. You weren’t feeling flashy, not today, not when your sore body ached this way. She knew you well. 

After she had finished your hair and makeup, you gave her the rest of the day off as a thank you.

 

Now that you were back out in the palace halls, this time in search of Thor, you had no idea where to look. You got the distinct feeling that perhaps the first time you’d seen his brother it had been by chance, but every other time after that had been orchestrated – as if you were a mouse in Loki’s wicked labyrinth. The very thought gave you an awful feeling in the pit of your stomach. You made a point to avoid the gardens, and that barren room. 

Instead, you explored areas of the palace you hadn’t yet, taking in the unfamiliar corridors with curiosity and admiration. The gilded walls and jeweled decorations seemed to go on for ages, endless and inviting. You could never tire of the riches and beauty of your new home.

Then you came to the end of the hall, where a single door innocently stood. Without a second thought, you turned the handle and stepped inside.

What you discovered was a room just as lavish as your own, albeit a fair bit larger and much more decorative in many ways. A pale blue sofa and two deep blue armchairs sat in the middle, as a conversation hub perhaps. There no bed to be seen, although the gilded archway opposite the entrance implied that there may have been another wing. Theroom was soothing, somehow – perhaps due to the wide variety of potted plants and herbs spread throughout.

As you continued your exploration, you found that to your right the plants led out to a large balcony with a much grander view of Asgard than you’d ever seen. And upon that balcony was the All-Mother, Frigga, wife of Odin. She was using magic to water her plants, but the water flowing from her fingertips ceased as you approached.

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise when you finally took notice of her; you had been too focused on the scenery, and rushed to curtsy. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I knew not that these were your chambers!” 

She raised her hand just slightly, a wordless order not to concern yourself with such pleasantries. “Do not worry, dear. I’ve been expecting you.”

At that, you opened your mouth to offer another apology, but it did not come – instead, the confusion finally struck you at her statement. 

“You have?”

Frigga nodded, and then turned back to her plants, allowing the water to again flow from her fingertips.

“May I ask why, Your Majesty?”

You were completely out of your element, here, having never spoken to her one-on-one like this. At the banquet you’d spoken to her once, and around the halls you had seen her; but court etiquette would not typically allow a private conversation between the Queen and a concubine.

“You’ve been here for some time,” she commented lightheartedly, “but you’ve not yet fulfilled your duty.”

Your brows furrowed at this. Your duty? What—

Oh.

You hadn’t yet shared your bed.

“I’m—I’m sorry—“

Once again she waved her free hand at you, this time as if to dismiss your apology.

“That was not a criticism, kind girl, but the opposite.” Then she stooped to pluck a dying bud off of one of her flowers. “You seem to be following your heart, not your ambitions.”

It sounded like she had you pegged better than you did. She seemed to appreciate the fact that while you would very much enjoy riches and status, you were more focused on attraction and, perhaps, love. Of course, to say that you were entirely without ambition was untrue.

“It seems that my sons chose wisely. I feared that they had not.”  

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you told her nervously, “But I would not mislead you. I have many ambitions.”

At that, she laughed, a soft, melodic sound. It was pleasing to the ear. “Of course you do, dear, but your heart is kind. That is more than most can say.”

You couldn’t help the smile that came across your lips. She was lovely, and so benevolent, just as you’d expect from a true Queen. It was clear that Thor’s gentle kindness stemmed from her. “Thank you.”

Frigga leaned down to procure a small potted plant, which, after she fussed with it for a moment, she then handed to you. In the rich azure pot was a single flower, beautiful and almost ethereal in appearance. Its delicate petals were a translucent white, and they surrounded by a fine mist, nothing of which you’d never seen. 

At your confused expression, she smiled. “A gift.”

Afraid that you may accidentally drop such a precious item, you accepted it carefully. You did not hold it close to yourself, however, for you felt that you did not deserve it, not when your heart was in such a messy state.

“I am not worthy of such a fine gift,” you told her, regretfully holding it back out to her.

“You are,” she told you, using one hand to gently push the plant back toward you. “And you will accept it.”

Finally nodding with resignation, you held it close to your chest. “Then I will cherish it.”

Frigga then began to walk back into her chamber, leaving the balcony behind. You followed her silently as she led you back to the entryway. It was not a comfortable silence; you felt awed by her presence, knowing she was so powerful. You were absolutely nothing compared to her in every single way.

“Please take care.” Her parting words held a certain weight which you did not yet understand.

 

Rounding a corner, you found yourself in the banquet hall where you’d first celebrated your arrival. The decorations you’d seen that evening no longer adorned the long table or the walls, and of course the guests were no longer there. As a result the room seemed quite empty.

While you had returned to your original objective of finding Thor, you were curious about the gift you’d been given. The mist was almost like a morning dew, and stuck close to the petals, no matter how quickly you moved the plant through the air or otherwise tried to disperse it. How strange. In your curiosity you also discovered that the center of the flower smelled sugary sweet. Upon breathing in its honeyed scent, however, a spell of dizziness befell you, one so severe that you had to use a hand to brace yourself against the large table to stop from falling.

What _was_ this?

The room spun as you stood there, unmoving, waiting for the spell to pass. It did not. Instead, it only intensified as your body became much too hot for your liking. You were absolutely burning up and the high ceilings seemed to mock you as they spun round and round. Clumsily dropping the plant onto the table, you vaguely noticed that the mist had disappeared.

Was it toxic? No, it couldn’t have been. Why would the All-Mother try to poison you?

Then the room began to shake. It almost seemed like an earthquake, but you knew that that wasn’t the case: such disasters only befell Midgard. Still, the shaking was so intense that even bracing yourself wasn’t enough to prevent you from hitting the floor. Your aching back, still bruised from your sparring match, smacked unforgivingly against the hardwood floor and your head followed suit with a sickening _crack_.

Then everything faded to black.


	10. The Fever

A shout of your name gave you a start, causing your eyes to snap open. You couldn’t see anything, only darkness. All you knew was that you did not feel safe.

You felt a sharp pain in the right side of your neck and winced, swinging your hand up to smack at the spot in an attempt to kill whatever biting insect was there. Nothing. When it happened again on your left, you did it again, only to find that the pain began to spread from your neck through your upper body. It was hot, searing through your veins like Helfire. As the pain overtook your body, it changed from a minor nuisance to something absolutely excruciating and you screamed.

 

 

“…llucinating.” The voice was faint, so faint that you barely heard it over the sound of your racing heart. Unfortunately, you couldn’t quite make out what it said.

“What was…”

 “—flower—“

There were more voices, now, but you could only hear bits and pieces. Thankfully the pain had gone away, save for the ache you felt in your spine and in the back of your head. That ache was welcome in comparison to whatever hell it was that you’d just encountered.

You began to feel that your hands were embedded in some type of cloth, white-knuckled and gripping the fabric with an uncomfortable tightness. In your mouth was a piece of something – leather? – that prevented you from biting down.

The feeling was foreign and you spat it out.

Your name was repeated again, this time much more clearly than before. The voice was low, masculine, familiar. A warm hand came up to gently lift your head, to which you groaned in pain.

“I know it hurts,” the voice said softly. “Just trust me.”

You did. Whether this was Thor or Loki or someone else entirely, you were too disoriented to figure it out and you had no choice but to blindly trust whoever it was.

A cold, bitter liquid passed between your parted lips and you swallowed it, but not without gagging at the taste. Even the aching began to fade, but it came at a price: your consciousness.

Everything went dark once again.  

 

 

When you finally came to, you were tucked securely into your bed. You sat up slowly, gingerly, afraid the pain – any pain - would return. Thankfully none did, and you rose to your feet. In the mirror you eyed your disheveled appearance. This time, it hadn’t been caused by a pleasant encounter, but one so bizarre you couldn’t be sure it was real.

As you began to strip out of your nightgown, the fabric caught on your palm and you turned over your hand to take a look. Upon both of your palms were fresh scabs in the shape of crescent moons, and judging by the dried blood beneath your fingernails they were likely the cause. But it did not hurt. In fact, your body was hot, too hot, and it felt like you were floating on air. Your head was spinning, and not out of dizziness but elation. It felt like you were merry with drink.

After you’d changed into something more presentable, you called for Mara, hoping she’d be able to fill you in on today’s events. When you received nothing but silence in response, you remembered that you had given her the rest of the day off. 

Of course you had.

You did what you could with your hair and makeup and then ventured out into the corridor. However, you did not very far, for you had only come to the first juncture when a call of your name drew your attention.

It was Thor, clear blue eyes focused on you, looking like he’d just run a marathon. His face was flushed, his hair was mussed, and his breathing was a bit more laboured than usual. You vaguely wondered if he’d look the same in the bedroom.

Well, you must have been feeling better if that was your first thought.

“I came as soon as I heard!” He approached quickly, his large hands coming to rest comfortably upon your cheeks. “Are you in pain?”

You felt your face heat up beneath his palms, but you didn’t look away, instead opting to keep your eyes on his. Even though he looked alarmed, just seeing him made your worries melt away. He had come to check on you. That made your heart soar.

“Not anymore, but I know not what happened.”

“Nor do I,” he responded, before he leaned down to leave a gentle kiss upon your lips. Then he brought you into a close embrace, pressing another kiss to the crown of your head. “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

You made a soft sound of agreement. With your head against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat. It was comforting.

“The All-Mother gave me a gift,” you murmured quietly. “A flower. When I breathed it in, I fell ill.”

“That was magic,” he explained, his words muffled just slightly by your hair. “It is not something you would have come across on your own. How strange that she would give it to you.”

You nodded silently, unsure what else to say. Obviously you couldn’t tell him your innermost thoughts on this matter, that you believed his mother had tried to poison you. It must have been toxic, surely, but based on your earlier conversation with Frigga you really couldn’t understand why she would even do such a thing. Did she think you a threat to her sons?

Thor slowly released you from his embrace, but he never fully let you go. Instead, one of his hands enveloped your own as the pair of you began to stroll aimlessly through the halls.

“Earlier today I came to your chambers,” he said hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure you were aware but wanted you be sure you knew regardless. “I wanted to speak with you.”

“Mara told me,” you acknowledged, and when he gave you a curious look you added, “My chambermaid.”

His lips formed an ‘o’ of recognition.

“What did you wish to speak with me about?” you asked him.

“It is not important,” he told you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You must be exhausted. Shall I escort you back?”

You shook your head and gave him a weary smile. “I’d like to spend some more time with Your Highness, if you are willing.”

At that, he smiled back at you, so radiant that you couldn’t help but feel a certain pleasant warmth growing within your heart. You were falling for him.


	11. The Favourite

Pleasant conversation flowed easily between the two of you for what felt like hours. Thor gave you a proper tour of the palace, one you were sorely in need of considering you continued to get lost. You appreciated his generosity very much, but did not appreciate that it – like all things - had to come to an end. You were now back where you’d started, at the entrance to your chambers.

“I enjoyed our outing at the armoury.” 

The comment caught you off guard, and your cheeks began to heat up when you remembered what, exactly, he was referring to.

When he noticed your embarrassment, he laughed. “I was referring to our bout, dear princess, though the other part was wonderful, too.”

His words only made you flush more, for he called you his ‘dear princess’ – a title reserved for his wife-to-be. Surely he didn’t think of you that way, yet, not so soon. He was making a jest, likely trying to rile you up.

“I—I enjoyed it very much,” you stammered. Even if you knew it was in had been jest, you were flustered.

He gave you a thoughtful look, then, before asking point blank, “When you’ve recovered, would you like to accompany me on another outing?”

In that moment you looked up at him and felt your breath hitch in your throat. The dim nighttime lighting of the palace corridors only served to make him look even more handsome. The candlelight seemed to make tanned skin glow, and you sorely wished to reach out and touch him further but you knew that this was neither the time nor place.

Without delay, you told him, “I’d love to.”

With a soft hum of approval, he leaned down and gave you another kiss, quick and tender, just like earlier and quite unlike the more fervent ones you’d shared at the armoury. No doubt he was purposely being gentle with you because you were still recovering. It was a fact that you loved and, at the same time, despised because all you wanted to do was experience his passion once again.  

Then he stepped away, and opened the doors. “Send word for me when you’ve recovered. I hope to see you soon.”

You nodded, and with that, he gave you one last kiss. Your eyes lingered on him as he walked away down the corridor. You’d never forget tonight. It was the first night since you’d arrived here that you felt less like a concubine, and more like a princess.

 

 

You spent the next couple of days in bed. While you felt well enough to move around, you still got random dizzy spells every now and then and the palace healers had given you strict orders of bedrest. Thankfully, the dizziness was much milder, now, considering first time had incapacitated you. You still did not know what the bitter liquid was that you’d been forced to drink, and the healers didn’t either.

On the flipside, the medicine that they had provided, while effective, had given you some very strange dreams, full of great battles and strong warriors – including your two princes. It always seemed so real, but you knew you were dreaming when you found yourself patrolling Asgard’s skies with Thor, and using magic to protect Loki. You couldn’t fly, you couldn’t use magic, and you certainly couldn’t match either of them in battle.

Needless to say, the dreams were very bizarre.

During your time awake, you wrote letters to your family and caught up on your reading. Mara had brought you some new books to peruse, specifically about mystical botany upon your request. 

 

 

It wasn't until on your fourth day of recovery that you finally ventured outside of your chambers, when you had exhausted stacks upon stacks of botany books. You never wanted to read the word "flower" ever again. The dizzy spells no longer plagued you, perhaps because of the medicine, even if it did continue to give you peculiar dreams.

Having been confined indoors for so long, you were keen to go outside – so you returned to the gardens for the first time in weeks. It was a shame that you could no longer appreciate the beautiful flowers to their full extent, for all they did was remind you of your toxic gift from the All-Mother.

When you arrived, a single breath of fresh air seemed to rejuvenate you. It was a small comfort that the scent of roses no longer brought back unpleasant memories of a certain dark-haired prince you’d rather forget.

After you’d inspected a few blooms, you realized that you were not alone. In the opposite end of the garden was another woman, another concubine to whom you'd been introduced at the banquet. You had seen her around since, but it was more a lack of convenience that had prevented you from chatting rather than spite.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted warmly. You could not remember her name.

In that moment she let out a quiet yelp and quickly yanked her hand back from one of the bushes. It looked like you had startled her, and as a result she accidentally pricked herself on a thorn. Pinching her bleeding fingertip in between the index finger and thumb of her other hand, she turned to you, looking sheepish. 

“Hello,” she responded with the softest, most delicate voice you’d ever heard, then added out of embarrassment, “I’m sorry to have caused such a scene.” 

“Oh, no! I apologize for startling you. I should have announced myself.”

At that, she finally smiled and you noticed that for a concubine she looked rather unkempt. Her strawberry-blonde hair had not been styled, but haphazardly pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her skirt had small grass stains where she knelt, and her hands were dirty, too, likely from gardening if the half-planted bushes behind her were any indication. She was a concubine, just like you, so why was she doing manual labour?

Your thoughts must have shown on your face before she let out a quiet laugh. “I enjoy working with the flowers. It relaxes me.”

“Have you planted many?”

She nodded and gestured to the small section of the garden in which you both stood. “All of these.”

“Oh! Quite a lot, then. They’re all so lovely.” Your voice held a note of admiration; you’d never had a ‘green thumb’ as the Midgardians called it, rather, you’d always been spectacularly bad at gardening. Most of the plants you cared for died within days. If you were still in possession of the toxic one, it likely would have befallen the same fate. As it was, you weren't sure whether it was still alive or dead from having been dropped. 

“Thank you,” she said with an appreciative smile, and then turned back to the bush behind her so as to finish planting it.

“Shall I assist you?” you asked her. It was awkward for you to just leave her here without at least offering to help. But you didn’t mind helping if she required it – you wanted to remain outside for a bit, and it would be a good excuse to stay. 

She turned back to you, then, and looked at you thoughtfully. Then she nodded and gestured to another bush that needed some care. “That one needs to be pruned.”

“Of course,” you said cheerfully, taking care – but perhaps not enough – to watch your gown as you knelt in the grass. Slowly, and with her instruction, you began to trim away the dead buds and branches with the shears she provided.

As you worked together to care for the flowers, she gave you some gardening tips and you began to learn more about her. Her name was Runa, and she was from a small village like you. Because she and her parents had grown fruits, vegetables, and medicinal herbs, doing something similar here made her feel like she was at home – almost. You understood the feeling, but you were a little envious because you hadn't yet found any reminders of home. 

“There,” you said with a satisfied sigh. “All done.”

You had finished pruning not only the one bush, but couple of others as well. As you got back to your feet, you wiped the sweat off your brow with the back of your hand and then stepped back to admire your handiwork.

“Well done,” Runa told you. “And thank you for the pleasant company.”

You gave her a cheeky grin in response. “Thank _you_ for giving me an excuse to stay outside. I’ve been ill the last few days, so this has been a delight.”

“It’s wonderful that you are feeling better.”

You nodded and began to help her pack up her things. Then you stopped for a moment, and chewed your lip as you debated on asking her about the gift.

After a moment, you decided to.

“Have you ever seen a flower with some kind of... mist surrounding it?” With a derisive laugh, you added, “I’m sorry, it’s difficult to explain.”

She considered this for a brief pause, before she shook her head. “No, I do not think I have, but I’d love to see such a strange flower. Why?”

It seemed that most people around the palace did not know about the plant, not the healers, and not Runa. You hadn’t heard anyone talk about it, save for Thor, so you were starting to think that it must have been kept a secret for a reason.

“I saw one in a picturebook once,” you lied. “I’ve always wondered if they truly exist.”


	12. The Painting

You were able to walk part of the way back to your chambers with Runa, but where you needed to head right, she required a left. So you said goodbye and parted ways, soon after basking in the happiness of having made a new friend. It was a shame that you could not tell her the truth, but perhaps after you learned more about this mysterious ailment, you would.

Further down the hall you saw a familiar red cape and a head of golden hair. It was unfortunate, and sad, that you hadn’t seen Thor since he stopped in to check on you that first night. Since then, you assumed he had been busy for you’d heard nothing from him. At least, you hoped that was the case, rather than the alternative.

You called out to him when you were close enough to do so, “Thor!”

When he turned to look at you for the briefest of moments, his eyes lit up but then he turned back to where he was facing. Oh. It looked like was having a hushed conversation with someone, a guard, and you’d rudely interrupted.

Out of consideration for his privacy, you kept your distance and waited patiently for him. You couldn’t make out any particular words, nor did you want to; you weren’t one to eavesdrop. It gave you the opportunity to study one of the paintings on the wall, of a beautiful flower.

 _The_ flower, you realized. And it looked almost exactly the same: the same white, translucent petals, the same blue pot. What was missing was the mist. Perhaps that had also been a hallucination. 

You searched for something in the painting that may signify what the flower was called, or who painted it, anything at all, but you came up empty-handed. You were about to lift the painting from the wall to peer behind it, when—

“Hello, dear princess,” a voice whispered into your ear as muscular arms wrapped around your torso from behind. A pleasant shiver went down your spine as his breath puffed against your ear, and you leaned back into him.

“Good afternoon,” you murmured.

When he pressed a kiss against your pulse, you melted.

“Are you well?” he asked you, holding you securely with a familiar gentleness. You relished in his warmth.

“I am now.” Slowly, you turned in his arms to face him, and you draped your own around his neck. It was comfortable, being so close to him, if not a little embarrassing to do it so publicly. “In fact, I think you’ll be pleased to know that I can freely move about the palace again!”

“I can see that you are,” Thor said with amusement. “You’ve been in the gardens?”

Your brows furrowed at his question. How did he know?

Then it dawned on you that you must look similar to Runa, unkempt and covered in soil. Your hair had not held its style well, with loose strands tickling your cheeks, and your clothing must have been a sight. A quick look down at yourself confirmed that there were some grass stains and splotches of soil on your skirt. Your face flushed with humiliation.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Your Highness!” You quickly stepped back from him, kept your eyes downcast and curtsied out of respect; how mortifying. You never should have presented yourself to him in such a disreputable state.

Thor’s jovial laughter made you feel even worse, especially when he used his thumb to brush away a faint line of soil on your forehead. Then his words became a small comfort, “No apologies are needed. I’m pleased to see that you’ve recovered so quickly.” 

Hesitantly, you risked a look back up at him and found that his eyes were so, so kind. He truly did not seem to be upset by your appearance, but happy that you were feeling well enough to muck around in the gardens.

In an attempt to further reassure you, he asked you, “Do you feel well enough for our next outing?”

You nodded, cheeks still rosy from embarrassment. You desperately wanted another opportunity to spend time with him, one that you would now use to make up for your disrespect today.

“I’m feeling well enough for anything, my lord.” Immediately, you realized the implication of your words but you could not take them back. If you were embarrassed before, it was nothing compared to how you were feeling now.

The look on Thor’s face showed that he had not been expecting such boldness from you. His brows were raised in surprise, and he looked away from you, then, to focus on something else, anything else. There was an awkward pause, until he cleared his throat in an attempt to clear the air. If you hadn’t been so caught up in your own predicament, you’d have noticed that his cheeks had taken on the slightest hint of a pink tinge, too.

“Then tomorrow,” he started, clearing his throat again, flustered, “Tomorrow, I will meet you at the training grounds. Dress for comfort.”

Your face still burned but you ignored it in favour of appreciating his offer. “Thank you for the invitation. I look forward to it.”  

At that, he gave you another radiant smile, one that made your knees go weak. You could not get over how astonishingly handsome he was, how his smile made his entire face light up and, directed at you, it made you feel so powerful to have been the cause.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, leaning in to press his lips against yours. The kiss was slow, tender, and even after his lips left yours, the sweet feeling lingered.

 

 

After your conversation with Thor that afternoon, you’d quickly returned to your chambers to wash and regain a proper appearance – but you found that you had no desire to leave again, not when you had tomorrow to daydream about.

He’d told you to dress for comfort, and that he would meet you at the training grounds. None of the gowns in your closet were “comfortable,” per se; even if the expensive material felt wonderful against your skin, you were always afraid of ruining it like you’d done with the gown from earlier today. You couldn't move around easily in it, either, for the many layers were as restrictive as they were beautiful. Perhaps he meant something that wasn’t a gown, but that would likely be made of the same type of material, too. If you were training together again, you couldn't sully such a fine, expensive fabric.

In the end, you settled for what you wore during your original bout, a thin shirt and slim-fitting trousers. The clothing was comfortable at least, which fulfilled the requirement you’d been given. Hopefully it would do, even if you didn’t look the least bit ladylike. You took a small comfort in the fact that Thor had seen you in these clothes before, and you knew that he wasn’t the type to judge freely. You just hoped that your choice would do.


	13. The Dream

The evening passed slowly, agonizingly so. It was perhaps because you were still in recovery – technically - that you allowed yourself to retire early. In truth, it was because you were entirely too eager for tomorrow, and you knew that if you did not try to sleep early then you may not sleep at all.

It was a small blessing that your dreams took you quickly – although you would not consider it a blessing in the morning, for they were even stranger with each passing night. This night was no exception.

The dream started out relatively normal, just a regular day in the palace. You passed through the now-familiar halls with ease, your heels clicking against the marble hall as you confidently strode along. Then you came across a stairwell.

 _The_ stairwell.

Your fingertips brushed languidly against the rough grey stone wall as you took one step down, and then another, over and over until you reached the bottom. There, you paused; you were shrouded in near-darkness, now, causing your heart began to beat fiercely within the confines of your chest.

You had returned to this place after weeks of avoidance. Why?  

The room was just as it had been the last time you were here. In front of the lit fireplace remained the same plush rug, the same velvet sofa, the same wooden end table – upon which lay the book you’d left behind. It was all still here, exactly the same as before.

That made you anxious.

But you entered the room regardless, and made a beeline for your book. You wanted to finish it, but you hadn’t been able to because it was locked away in here. Now you’d finally been given an opportunity to retrieve it.

When you turned around to leave, however, something caught your wrist. That some _thing_ was rather a some _one,_ you found, when you saw him there on the sofa. His back was propped with a pillow against the armrest. Surely he hadn’t been there before, for you’d have noticed right away and instead would have gone right back up the stairs, away from him. No, he must have used his magic to prevent you from seeing him.

There it was again: clever manipulation.

“Loki,” you said, the disdain evident in your voice. His name – spoken without a title – felt foreign on your tongue.

His eyes, still so green and stunning and beautiful, narrowed at the casual address but he did not criticize. Instead, he chose his words carefully. “I simply wish to talk.”

You snorted at this, not caring how unladylike you appeared to him. If you had Thor’s favour, you had no need for his, too. Not only that, but you had no desire to pick up where you’d left off, as his once-favourite plaything.

That being said, you could not deny how attractive Loki looked in the light of the fire, lying so leisurely on the sofa like he had not a care in the world. The firm grip of his fingers around your wrist inferred otherwise, however, and you found that while your heart minded his touch, your body relished in it.

“Fine,” you responded sharply. “Then speak.”

Only after you spoke did you recall that he did not take orders, nor was it your place to command him as such. And, of course, that proved to be your undoing.

His eyes were alight with the challenge, burning into yours and sending unpleasant chills down your spine. His fingers tightened around your wrist just slightly.

“You,” he started, his words conveying his annoyance, “are an _insufferable_ woman.”

“ _I’m_ insufferable?” You let out a laugh, then, one meant to mock. The confidence in your voice was false, for you were very keenly aware of your close proximity to him. “If I’m insufferable, then what does that make you? Always so controlling, so full of—” 

You were unable to finish your statement, for he used his tightened grip to pull you down onto the sofa. Your knees hit the cushions with more force than necessary, causing you to fall forward. Thankfully your free hand shot out to catch yourself on the back of the sofa behind him. The distance between the two of you had reduced considerably, now, but the thought was promptly pushed from your mind in favour of focusing on the dark expression on his face. From your position above him, it made your heart skip a beat, and not in a good way.

“Quiet yourself,” he hissed, glaring at you, “or I will do it for you.”

He squeezed your wrist to emphasize his point, that he could control your body so easily with just a quick tug. It was a thinly-veiled warning for you to remember your place. Then he let go.

Slowly, you leaned away from him and sat back on your heels, stunned into silence. Why you did not run away was beyond you. Instead, you absentmindedly began to rub your wrist with your other hand, as if he’d hurt you; but he hadn’t this time. In fact, all things considered he’d been rather gentle.

You watched as he eyed your wrist for a brief moment and a flash of something – regret? – appeared there, before his eyes met yours. You stared – or, perhaps, glared – at each other in silence, emotions running high but neither of you willing to act on them.

The silence finally ended when he let out a long, exasperated sigh.

He said your name, first, not prefixed with your title – the same disrespect you’d given him. Then he continued, “I’ve had enough of these games.”

“As have I.” Your fingers left your wrist to instead smooth out the wrinkles in your skirt. “Shall we just drop the pretense? We clearly do not suit each other. Not really.”

He almost looked surprised at this. “Don’t we?”

You rolled your eyes. “ _Enough,_ Loki.”

“I’m quite fond of you, actually,” he told you, much to your surprise, “Even if you _are_ absolutely infuriating.”

“I… What?”

At that, he laughed. You hated that you liked the sound.

“I fear you may have gotten the wrong impression.”

You just stared at him, your jaw slack. It was in this moment that you realized you were dreaming; it was just so unrealistic, just like all of the other bizarre dreams you’d had as of late. After all the heated exchanges the pair of you had shared in the past, there was no way he could still enjoy your company or harbor even the smallest shred of interest in you.

Surely if this was a dream, you’d be able to make fire appear with a snap of your fingers. So you did just that, and a small flame appeared in your palm just as you predicted. There it was. Magic. Your confirmation.

At the very least, this dream had allowed you to air some of your frustrations. You’d not been able to talk to anyone about the arguments and nasty words you’d exchanged with Loki; instead you’d kept it all bottled up, much to your detriment. Already you were feeling quite a bit better.

It was unfortunate that as your anger subsided, it replaced itself with something far stronger. Your mind conjured in explicit detail everything he’d done to you in this room the last time you were here, and you found yourself wanting. You were almost disgusted with yourself, but then again, it _was_ just a dream.

A small shake of your hand ended the flame and with it, your resolve.

“Loki.” Your voice was breathy. “Kiss me.”

Amusement shone in his eyes, but he did not move an inch. What a surprise. “Ask _nicely_ , pet.” 

Oh, there it was, that pet name. The very sound of it uttered in such a low, enticing voice sent a surge of heat straight to your core.

“Please kiss me,” you responded obediently, completely unashamed. It was just a dream, after all.

Loki’s fingers again caught your wrist. He was much gentler than before as he pulled you to him once more, and this time you did not prevent yourself from falling – no, instead you straddled his hips as he leaned forward to capture your lips with his. His kiss was rough, urgent, and full of desire, his tongue dominating yours with ease and leaving you breathless. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek while the other snaked around your waist and pulled your lower half flush against him. Suddenly you could feel the evidence of his arousal against your clothed core, and a moan was ripped ungracefully from your throat.

With a soft hum of approval, his lips left yours to focus on your neck, where he kissed a blazing trail against your pulse to your ear. There, he whispered, “Tell me what you want, love.”

A shiver went down your spine as his breath puffed against the hypersensitive skin of your neck, and you gasped, “You. I want you.”

“Good girl.”

With a wave of his hand, you were naked. He was too, you found, when you felt the tip of his cock brush just slightly against your entrance. His hands came to rest on your hips, a grip he used to slowly lower you down – and he did not stop until he was fully sheathed inside you, no matter how loudly you moaned or how harshly your nails dug into his shoulder.

“You’re so _wet_ ,” he breathed into your ear, pressing just slightly deeper into you, just enough to make you see stars. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted this.” 

“Loki,” you gasped, overwhelmed with the feeling of him stretching you to the brim. “I— Please—”

“Tell me, pet.”

“For ages!” Your voice carried a certain note of desperation you’d never heard before, and you ground your hips into his in a frantic attempt to get him to move.  “Please, Loki, I need—“

That was when he rewarded you, by finally starting a rhythm – one painfully slow at first, but as your insistent whimpers became louder he began to thrust into you without restraint. You did what you could to match his pace, but after a short time your legs went weak at the immense pleasure and all you could do was moan. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your limit, what with how he angled his thrusts just so, repeatedly hitting the spot inside you that made you entirely incoherent. His pace picked up as well, and as his thrusts became a bit wilder you found yourself getting unbearably close.

“I’m—I’m about to—“

“So am I,” he groaned against your neck, the force behind his thrusts almost brutal as he slammed into you until you finally came undone with a strangled cry. Your walls clenching down around him so tightly sent him over the edge, and you couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you up with his seed.

Then your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself staring blankly up at the white canopy of your bed. Your body was covered in a sticky sheen of sweat. Your laboured breathing matched the pace of your racing heart. And, worst of all, your core throbbed painfully with unfulfilled desire.

It was just a dream, you told yourself.

Just a dream.


	14. The Truce

You spent the rest of the night was spent tossing and turning, unable to get a wink of sleep. When you finally gave up and pulled yourself out of bed, it was quite early, still dark outside. You’d gotten plenty of rest in the last few days, at least, but right now you wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep and forget it all.

Why had your mind conjured such a thing? Why now, when you were so excited to spend time with Thor? Loki was the exact opposite of his brother, the exact opposite of what you wanted in a husband – but your body still longed for him, even now.

You hated it.

You had already pulled on your casual attire and were in the process of brushing your hair when the doors quietly opened, signaling your servant’s arrival. She was always so discreet at sunrise so as not to wake you from your slumber.

“Oh!” came Mara’s surprised voice from the doorway, “You’re awake, milady!”

You turned to her with a weary smile. “I had some trouble sleeping.”

At that, she frowned, coming over to gently pluck the hairbrush from your fingers. Then she started to brush your hair where you left off, with more finesse than you could ever do yourself.

“Are your dreams still very strange?” she questioned.

You shut your eyes, relaxing under her touch. “This one was the strangest yet.”

“How much longer must you take the medicine?”

“I do not know,” you responded with a sigh. “Not for much longer, I hope.”

Mara’s fingers began to weave through your hair, and you vaguely recognized that she was braiding it. “Shall I ask the healers for something to help you sleep?”

You had refused the offer before, not wanting to take more medicine than was necessary - but after that dream, you had started to consider it. “Please.”

“I will do that as soon as you are in the care of His Highness,” she told you, finishing with one plait and starting on another. “I’ll ensure that it is ready upon your return.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you were quiet for the remainder. Mara assumed that perhaps you were taking a quick nap; it was not uncommon for you to nod off while she styled your hair. But not this time, no – when you shut your eyes, you could do nothing but picture that dream in explicit detail and when you kept them open, you could still hear Loki’s every wicked word.

At this point, you would have almost preferred the excruciating pain you’d received from the All-Mother’s gift.

 

 

It was a quick walk to the training grounds. Perhaps the excitement made you walk faster, or maybe your mind was too focused on _other_ things. Either way, you were thankful that Thor had not yet arrived. It gave you some time to center your thoughts. Not that you had expected him to be here so early, of course; the sun had just begun to rise over the horizon.

The door to the armoury was unlocked, so you ventured inside. A little bit of training would surely distract you.  

The claymore was still there in all of its sparkling beauty, but you’d forgotten your belt in your room. That was fine, you could train without. Armour was unnecessary, too, and you didn’t think you had the time to fuss with other knives or anything of the sort so you just pulled a training sword from the wall and ventured out onto the pitch.

Aside from a few archery targets, there were a number of striking posts, so you selected one at random and got to work. The wooden sword felt awkward in your hands, too little, too light, too useless, and you fumbled a bit. Thankfully it was still quite early so there weren’t very many people here, just a couple of soldiers getting in some morning practice and they paid no mind to you.

With a couple more fumbling attempts, you began to pout. Another few made you grumble with frustration, until you tossed the wooden sword to the ground in a tantrum. The only thing that could make today worse was if it rained. At that alarming thought, you took a look up at the sky and felt a little relieved when you didn’t spot a single cloud. The sun had fully risen now, and the sky was blue as can be. 

Feeling a little more optimistic, you picked up the stupid wooden thing and went to exchange it for the claymore you'd used before. You also decided to practice without a target like you normally did. Back to basics. Just like the last time you’d used the weapon, it was lighter than your claymore at home, but this time its heft felt more familiar in your hands.

Years of training flooded back to you as you began to move fluidly, working through patterns and rotations, dodging imaginary foes and then slashing through them just as easily. It was almost like a dance, rehearsed to the very last detail, and you couldn’t help but feel your mood improve. It was exhilarating, being able to train so freely like this. Back at home, you never had much time to train. 

Only when your breathing became laboured and sweat began to drip down your forehead did your training finally come to a close. You stabbed the blade deep into the pitch to temporarily secure it while you wiped the sweat away; then you froze. You surely looked a mess, now, and Thor would be here at any moment to spend time with you. You’d gotten too excited and had forgotten the reason why you were here to begin with.

Fantastic.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could return to your room and have Mara fix you up.

You yanked the sword back out of the ground and, with a hastened pace, began to head back to the armoury. Who you saw standing there, leaning against the now-closed armoury doors, made you freeze for the second time that day.

Loki smoothly greeted you with a single word: your name, and only that. He did not use your title.

Your heart instantly began to pound, every explicit detail of last night’s dream coming back to you at the sound of his voice. Had you not been so caught off guard, you may have bristled at the insult – but as it was, you nearly forgot to curtsy.  

“Good-” You stammered the beginnings of a sentence, before you cleared your throat to clear away the uneven tone. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Surely you don’t plan to greet my brother like _that_.”

You certainly noticed the insult this time. “Excuse me?”

“For a _concubine_ ,” he began, emphasizing the word as if to make a point of the difference in status between the two of you, “you look quite unkempt. It hardly befits a woman of your stature.”

You set your jaw in a feeble attempt to bite back a nasty retort, and, somehow, it worked.

As he began to approach you with slow, almost predatory strides, he continued, “I’m surprised you haven’t made more of an effort. Or perhaps,” he was close, now, close enough to reach up and brush away a few stray hairs stuck to your dewy forehead, “you wanted to drive him away. Is that it, pet?”

Well, it _had_ worked until he dropped the pet name on you. Your reaction was instantaneous: you shoved him away from you with almost all of your body weight.  

“I am _not_ your pet,” you spat angrily, “ _Your_ _Highness_.”

Loki stumbled for just a moment from being pushed, clearly not having anticipated such a violent reaction. Then his lovely green eyes fixed upon you in a heated glare, and he quickly closed the distance between the two of you. When you tried to shove him away again, his fingers wrapped painfully around both of your wrists.

“You are,” he hissed, “even when you’re out having some meaningless tryst with my brother. You know that’s what it is, don’t you? Just a folly.”

“Stop it!” You struggled against his iron grip to no avail. “Let me go!”

“You’ll learn soon enough,” he told you, venom lacing his words. “He’ll get bored of you, and then you’ll come running back to me, desperate for status.”

“No—”  

“Oh, but you will. Like a dog with its tail between its legs. Pathetic.”

You tried again to yank your wrists free but again, it did nothing. Uncontrollable anger bubbled up inside of you, burning endlessly, a reaction that only Loki could ever invoke in you. Your vision went blurry with tears, then, but you weren’t sure whether they were out of anger or betrayal. Perhaps both.

“Did that strike a nerve, pet?”

“Enough!” you shrieked at him, the stinging in your eyes becoming almost unbearable and you did your best to blink away the tears. “Why are you always so cruel to me? It hurts!” Then the dam finally broke, and the tears began to roll down your cheeks. Almost immediately, your wrists were bound no longer. Instead, you caught a glimpse of alarm in his eyes right before you brought your hands up to shield your crying face from him. Your voice was much weaker, broken, when you spoke again, “It _hurts_ , Loki.”

The silence was almost deafening, save for the sound of your muffled sobs. You didn’t know what to do. Thor had always been so kind to you, and in the beginning, Loki was too. Then he had shown you his true colours, and you hated him for it. But you couldn’t forget the start of it all, how lovely he was once, and you hated him for that too. You saw what could have been, and that was what hurt the most.  

He said nothing, and offered no apologies, but hesitantly his hands came to rest on your upper arms in an attempt to console you. As if he’d stung you, you shook off his touch and rubbed your tears away before fixing a glare upon him once again.

Hoarsely, you hissed at him, “Don’t touch me.”

He raised his hands in a show of surrender. “Pet, I-”

“No,” you interrupted him, a prince, completely breaching decorum and not caring at all. Then you told him your full name. “ _That_ is my name. Use it.”

In response, Loki let out a frustrated sigh of your name. “Is it your intent to infuriate me or is that just one of your many talents?”

Your anger had never gone away, not really; it was still there, even when he appeared to be making amends, as backhanded as they were. As a result, you bit out, “I hadn’t expected a Prince of Asgard to be such a hypocrite.”

“You-” He cut himself off and sighed again, angrily, before he nodded toward the pitch. “Clearly verbal communication is not our forte. Shall we?”

It was the first good thing you’d heard from him in weeks. You pulled your claymore from the ground once again. “Gladly.”

Then you walked out to the center of the pitch, and he followed closely behind. His weapons looked familiar, daggers that glowed blue – it took you a moment to place them, but when you did, you felt a bit guilty. You had used his daggers, and dropped them so carelessly when—

Well, no wonder he had been so angry that day.

You didn’t wait for him to say he was ready. The tip of your claymore once again dragged behind you in the dirt of the pitch as you charged toward him. Of course you did not catch him off guard; he looked as though he had been expecting your approach.

As you slashed the sword down upon him, he easily dodged it and attempted to land a blow to your arm, to get you to drop your weapon. You saw it coming, but still barely managed to move out of the way. Then you jumped a couple of paces back to regain some distance.

He was faster than you thought he would be.

Again, you charged, but this time he parried your attack. The X shape he made with his daggers trapped your blade and rendered it temporarily useless. When you pushed down on it, trying to overpower him with brute strength, a slew of spiders began to crawl down the blade and all over your hands.

Immediately, you yelped in surprise and let go in favour of getting the spiders off of you. Your claymore clattered to the ground, unnoticed by you, and Loki took a step forward to put himself in between you and your weapon. Meanwhile, when you had finished shaking off your hands and arms, you looked up at him again only to find that he looked awfully smug.

Oh. He had used his magic on you, and now you were unarmed. If you’d had time to prepare, you would have had another weapon up your sleeve. As unfortunate as it was that you could not rely on your own “tricks” as Thor had called them, it was almost poetic: Loki was a trickster. _The_ trickster.

You sprinted toward him and, just when you thought you may be able to land a blow, he disappeared. Or, rather, the illusion of him disappeared and instantly you found a blade at your throat.

“I thought you’d put up a better fight than this,” he whispered into your ear. “Show me that your training wasn’t for nothing.” You could almost hear the smirk in his voice when he added, “ _Pet._ ”

You grit your teeth. There it was again. He was obviously trying to rile you up this time, but it worked all the same.

“Give me one of your daggers and I will.”

The blade was removed from your throat, and its cold handle was pressed into your palm. You were shocked that Loki had listened – and that he could share. Your surprise must have shown on your face, for he called out to you from a couple of paces away, his voice taunting, “Don’t make me regret it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, a genuine smile. You were having fun. “Oh, but I will.”

This time he came to you, and you blocked his attacks easily until, well, you didn’t. He landed one on your arm, and because you weren’t wearing armour, blood began to seep from the wound. It wasn’t a very large cut, but it did sting and you hissed in pain.

Startled, he reached out to you to make sure you were okay, and started to ask the same: “Are you—”   

Instead, you took advantage of his moment of concern by using his outstretched hand to flip him onto the ground. He landed harshly on his back with a pained groan, and his weapon landed a bit further away from him, out of reach. Now you were the one smugly looking down at him. Even from your position above him, you could see the irritation and the exhilaration burning in his eyes. 

“I told you you’d regret—"

Then he kicked your legs out from under you, interrupting your victory speech. You landed ungracefully on your arse.

“I shouldn’t have expected fairness from you,” you told him, sulking as you got back to your feet, brushing away the dirt from your clothing. At least you still had a weapon. He did not.

“I expected it from you, and yet here we are.” At that, he gave you a smile. It was the first you’d seen from him in ages, and you hated that your heart warmed at the sight. “I’m impressed.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little pleased at his compliment. When had he last complimented you? You couldn’t even remember.

When he leaned down to collect his dagger some paces away, you threw the one you were still holding at it, in an attempt to make him flinch. The blade buried itself deep within the pitch, directly in front of his own, just centimetres from his outstretched hand. Immediately, his eyes snapped to you.

You were unarmed, now, but it did make him leave the blades where they lay.

“You still want to fight?” he asked you incredulously.

“I have a lot of frustrations to air,” you told him lightly. “And I haven’t won yet.”

“Oh, pet, but you already know I’ll be the victor. I’ve been going easy on you.”

And just as you assumed he wanted, you broke into a run, ready to end this once and for all. The last few steps gave you enough momentum to jump. You had intended to land in such a way that your thighs would trap his arms, but you only managed to trap one. The lack of balance sent you both to the ground, with your body flush against his.

“This seems familiar,” he murmured, giving you a dark look that stopped you in your tracks.

This position, with you on top of him, was very similar to the dream you’d had last night. Again, you began to remember what, exactly, had left you so unable to sleep. You swallowed thickly, trying to speak but the words would not come.

“What is it, darling? Pleasant memories?”

You could feel his warmth against your core, covered by just a few layers of cloth and leather. Granted, you were sitting atop his abdomen rather than further down, but it was still Loki.

Then the palm of his free hand pressed against your forehead, and sent you spiraling into your memories. You could remember his breath, his touch, how absolutely amazing he felt inside you, how hard he pushed you over the edge—

And suddenly you returned, your back against the dirt, gasping because just the memory - Loki’s sensory magic - had brought you to climax once again. Your body was on fire, tingling, goosebumps raising with every uneven breath.

As you came down from your high, that same familiar hand came into your field of vision, Loki’s hand, so capable of doing this much to you with just a single touch. Just the sight of him above you sent aftershocks through you like electricity. There was a heat that couldn't be quelled by memories alone, and your heart pounded fiercely within the confines of your chest as you shakily accepted the offering. He swiftly pulled you to your feet, and even though you were unsteady upon them, he did not hold you flush against him as much as you longed for him to. You barely had the chance to wonder why when you saw the faint outline of Thor approaching in the distance.

The warmth of Loki’s touch lingered against your palm, but you forced yourself to ignore it; instead, you waved to Thor, more to shake away the feeling of Loki’s touch than to offer a greeting. You weren’t even sure if Thor had seen you, but when he waved back, you felt an unpleasant mixture of anxiety and dread: like you’d been caught having an affair.

“That was your doing, then.” Your voice was quiet, uneven, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you finally addressed the elephant in the room. It wasn’t an accusation, but one only meant to state a fact.  “The dream.”

There was an extended pause, one long enough that you glanced over to Loki to see why he hadn’t answered. What you found was that his brows were furrowed, and his jaw was set with tense concern. That was not a good sign.

“Wasn’t it?”

When his lovely green eyes finally met yours, you saw the uneasiness within them. “No.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could reply Thor’s cheerful voice met your ears.

“Good morning!” He didn’t seem any the wiser to the tension in the air, and for that you were thankful. “Getting in a bit of morning training?”

You smiled at him and curtseyed, even though you must have been quite unkempt from this morning’s activities. Somehow you managed to speak clearly enough to avoid suspicion. “His Highness was very kind to spar with me until your arrival.”

“You should be flattered, brother - she was in quite a state when I passed by,” Loki said casually. He was a much better liar than you were; you felt as though your façade would crack at any moment. “I hoped to distract her from her nerves.”

“My lord,” you chided, cheeks flushing. What may have looked like embarrassment on the outside, however, was the remaining anxiety from your interrupted conversation. If the dream wasn't Loki's doing, then who was to blame?

Thor’s brows raised a little at the fact that you and Loki were on speaking terms again, but then he laughed, placing a gentle hand upon your shoulder. “I am grateful that she did not have to wait alone. Thank you.”

Loki nodded in response. “I leave her in your hands.”  

Then he shot you one last look – as if warning you to keep your mouth shut about the dream – before he left you alone with Thor. You watched his retreating figure for a few moments longer than necessary, unable to shake the unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach. It did not go unnoticed.

“It seems Loki has finally come to his senses.”

The last time you had spoken to Thor about his brother, the two of you hadn’t been on speaking terms for weeks. This was a recent development – _very_ recent, as in ‘this morning’ recent. Your eyes snapped to Thor, and again you felt as though you'd been caught red-handed. He didn't look angry, however, to which you smiled sheepishly.

“We’ve finally cleared the air. Perhaps it will last for another two days or so.”

Thor let out another boisterous laugh. “You know him well.”

Then he draped his arm around your shoulders again, in his clumsy, familiar way, and began to guide you away from the armoury.

“My claymore—”

“Will be taken care of,” he responded warmly, gesturing to one of the grounds servants taking care of an adjacent pitch nearby.

You nodded and an awkward silence fell upon you both for a few moments. Then, you remembered suddenly that you must have looked a mess.

“I apologize for my appearance. Again. I certainly seem to be making a habit of it.”

At this, Thor paused in his travels and turned you to face him. “You are worrying too much, dear princess. You need not be immaculate.” The slightest hint of concern showed on his face, but his voice was kind. His eyes were even kinder, so clear and honest and blue. You knew now that he had noticed your anxious state, and likely assumed it to have been caused by Loki; he was just too respectful to say anything to you directly.

As you came to this realisation, your body moved of its own accord: you wanted to kiss him, and so you did. Your fingers embedded themselves in his tunic as you raised yourself up on your toes to reach. In the last moment, Thor leaned down just enough to close the distance, and when your lips met, all of your worries seemed to melt away. The kiss was gentle and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world to explore it together. There was also an undercurrent of lust, as there always was, but it wasn’t unbridled; it was meticulously controlled, for you both knew that this was not the time or place for such endeavours.

When Thor pulled away, you were breathless and dazed. You’d shared so many kisses with him before, and while they never failed to take your breath away, this one had been more effective than most.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice full of amusement as his fingers laced with yours. You could only nod, and your cheeks flushed scarlet with actual embarrassment this time. You were still steadily falling for Thor. The only problem was that, as dramatic and infuriating as Loki was, you were falling for him, too.


	15. The Stable

It was a much shorter walk than you were expecting to reach your destination. The large, wooden building was unfamiliar, with a fence-enclosed field to the side and a forest to the rear – but the sound of horses was unmistakable. Before you even stepped inside, you had already put two-and-two together.

“I haven’t been riding in quite some time,” you commented as you approached the entrance to the stable. “It has been years!”  

Thor smiled and leaned against the doorframe as you stepped inside. “Have you missed it?”

The building itself was quite ordinary, but much larger than any other stable you’d ever seen. You couldn’t help but look up at the raised ceiling in awe; there were skylights, perhaps to allow the horses some sunlight when they were locked up most hours of the day.

“I have.”

You didn’t exactly excel at riding, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. You were also eager to finally explore the palace surrounds. There were a great many forests and beaches, along with the mountains in the distance which you hoped to see one day. 

 “You are welcome to come out here anytime you’d like,” Thor offered kindly.

As you walked in between the rows of horses, you saw that most of them had name placards attached to their stall doors with their owners’ names etched beneath. The first one you noticed was a massive brown steed named Lampos, and considering its size, you were not surprised to find that this one was Thor’s.

“Surely I must seek permission?” you asked Thor, before gesturing to Lampos. “The royal horses are housed here, after all.”

“And you are royalty,” Thor said with a smile, coming over to give Lampos a few pats. “Just as I am.”

A pleasant shiver went through you at his response. It was true that you were part of the royal family, now, but you’d never thought of it in such a way and you certainly couldn’t say that you didn’t like the thought. It was a bit embarrassing, however, being told such a thing by him; you should have already realized it.

“I… I suppose I am.” To distract yourself from your embarrassment, you held your hand out to Lampos for him to sniff, before you began to pet his nose. It was somewhat awkward, however, because even his nose was taller than you. He was a very large steed. “I’m sorry. This is all still quite new to—”

That was when Thor’s hand caught your outstretched one and he pulled you to him with it. Or, rather, he pulled your arm to him and turned your palm so that it faced the ceiling, fully exposing the cut on your forearm. The sudden jerking motion made you wince; you had forgotten all about it until now.

“You’re injured.”

“It was from sparring,” you said quietly. You knew you should have tended to it then, but certain other… _activities_ had distracted you from doing so. The pain hadn’t really kicked in until now, either, so it had been easily forgotten.

Thor let go of your hand in favour of seeking a medical kit upon one of the shelves nearby. When he returned, you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. You’d seen him angry once before, but it hadn’t been directed at you.

“The blood is long dry.” It was an accusation, a statement meant to reprimand you for not taking care of your injury when it had happened. He pulled some supplies from the kit, most notably a clean cloth and a liquid you did not recognize.

As Thor tipped some of the liquid onto the cloth, you got the bright idea to argue with him. “My lord, it isn’t a large wound—”

Then he pressed the cloth against the cut and you hissed in pain.

“I know you to be many things,” he said sternly, “but a fool is not one of them.”

Your wound began to itch and burn, just slightly at first, likely due to the unknown liquid Thor had applied to the cloth. What started out as a minor irritation however soon turned into a terrible pain, and soon you bit your lip hard to prevent yourself from whimpering. He already thought you were stupid for not taking care of it already; you didn’t need him to think you were weak, too.

Time passed agonizingly slowly. Thor was only helping you tend to your wound, and you knew that, but you hated that he was the one doing it, that he was the one pressing the cloth flush against your skin like a parent would. Not only that, but it was even worse of you to make him do this; he was a prince, after all. His hands should never have been dirtied at your expense.

Then Thor’s free hand came to rest upon your own, and you flinched, unable to look at him due to shame. After a short while, he removed the cloth, revealing clean, unmarred skin. The wound had fully healed.

There was an extended silence as Thor packed up the medical kit.

 “Thank you,” you mumbled, unable to bear the silence any longer.

Thor placed the kit back on the shelf, and the used cloth in a bin, before he returned to you. Rather than acknowledging him, you focused your attentions on Lampos, not wanting to face Thor just yet.

“I’m sorry I did not tend to it sooner,” you said softly, gently stroking Lampos’s nose. “I should have. And now I’ve made you debase yourself for me. I’m sorry.”

“No, dear princess. I should be the one apologizing.”

You froze. Thor was apologizing to you. Why? He had done nothing wrong.

At last you turned to him and met his eyes. 

“I should not have gotten angry with you. It was a small wound, as you said.”

 You shook your head. “No, I should have—”

“That isn’t the point.” Thor let out a small sigh of frustration, not so much at you as himself. “I have seen you in battle. I know your strength. You may even be stronger than me.”

That was, of course, a joke and you knew as well as he did that he was much stronger; but he was trying to lighten the mood, and you let out a small laugh.

“But when I see you like this, so… delicate, I worry.”

“I am stronger than I look,” you teased.

“I know.” He gave you that same lovely smile that you loved, where his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Nevertheless, it is so easy for me to do this.”

Then he hooked one arm under your knees and another around your shoulders, and picked you up with ease. You gasped in surprise at the sudden closeness and instinctively slung your arms around his neck, but he held you securely, like a real princess. Somehow, you weren’t worried about falling.

“You are so small in my arms, [Name].”

His words weren’t meant to taunt, and you took no offence. Instead, your heart began to pound furiously within the confines of your chest. It was so intimate, being held by him, and with his clear blue eyes studying your face so closely, you felt a bit shy.

“I think that you’re just very large,” you responded idiotically.

Thor let out a boisterous laugh, and you could feel his chest move with each breath. “Possibly.”

Then he put you down, and you couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed. Why must you always ruin the moment?

But he didn’t let go completely. One of his hands grasped yours gently, and he brought it to his lips. Upon it, he left a quick kiss, before he released it again.

Your face immediately flushed crimson, and you turned back to the horses.

A few stalls down, you found what you could only assume was Loki’s steed. He was slightly smaller than Lampos, and his coat had a beautiful sheen, black as the night. While a quick glance at the placard confirmed what you already knew, you also learned that his name was Phaethon.

There were so many horses to approach. Most were friendly, but every now and then you came across one who was skittish or just grumpy. You supposed that they were still being trained, or maybe that was just a personality trait.

Then you saw a small, spotted, grey and white horse tucked away in a darkened corner. He seemed quite unapproachable, as if he was trying to lie down and hide away from everything, but when you got closer he poked his nose through a hole in the wooden fencing. Just his nose. It was cute, and you felt yourself smiling as you held your hand out for him to sniff.

Then he chomped.

“Hey!” you scolded, laughing. “My fingers are not carrots!”

“Who’s this?” Thor came up to give him a good pat, too, but the nose disappeared back into the stall before he got the chance.

You walked over to the stall door and looked around for a placard, but you couldn’t find one anywhere. “He doesn’t seem to have a placard.” 

“I’ll have one made, then, once you choose a name.”

You turned to face Thor and gave him a confused look. “A name?”

“If he doesn’t have a plaque, then he doesn’t yet have an owner. He certainly hasn’t approached anyone else since his arrival.” Thor’s last couple of words were marked with laughter, as the horse had since returned and was sniffing your hair. “It appears you’ve made a friend, my lady.”

As if on queue, you felt another chomp, this time upon one of your plaits. You supposed it served you right for turning your back on him. You snorted and gave him another pat on the nose.

“Perhaps I should name him Volstagg!” you jested. “Shall we compare them side by side to see who eats more?”

Thor laughed and unlocked the stall door to release your new horse. He continued to seem a bit apprehensive with Thor, and only walked out of his stall when Thor stepped away. This gave credence to what Thor had said about him not approaching any other potential rider; you vaguely wondered why.

“Hello,” you greeted him as he came up to you. He sniffed your outstretched hand again but this time he didn’t chomp. Instead, he came closer and nudged your face with his nose.

“We shall have to find you something to eat before we head out, then,” you murmured, stroking his head a couple more times before following Thor to find him some food. Your horse followed along obediently, almost like he understood what you had said.

 

 

After your horse inhaled a particularly large amount of food – you’d think he had been starving for weeks! – you got him all saddled up and prepared to go. Thor was already waiting for you with Lampos outside by the time you both arrived.

“I think I _will_ name him Volstagg,” you told Thor, this time with more seriousness. “You should have seen how much he ate!”

As if he approved of the name, Volstagg whinnied and ran in a little circle around you.

“See, my lord? He likes it!”

Thor let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll allow you the honour of breaking the news to his namesake, then.”

You snorted and placed one foot in the saddle to mount the horse. As if he knew what you wanted to do, Volstagg lowered himself a little to make it easier for you to hop on – which you gladly did.

“Good boy,” you said, patting his neck.

Then you looked over at Thor, who proceeded to mount his steed much more easily – and gracefully - than you’d anticipated. Riding must have been second nature to him.

When he met your eyes, he gave you a bright smile. “Shall we go?”

You nodded, and off you went on your first proper outing together.


End file.
